


Walking with a Ghost

by pterawaters



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Minor Character Death, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Triad Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 17:58:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4970803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pterawaters/pseuds/pterawaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy Carter has moved on with her life after the war, striking up a relationship with Angie Martinelli and making her mark on New York City. Everything is going well until Dum Dum Dugan brings Peggy a ghost: Bucky Barnes. Of course, Peggy is thrilled to see Bucky, and of course she'll help him integrate back into a semi-normal life, but things aren't the same as during the war. While Peggy, Bucky, and even Angie, live under the shadow of Steve Rogers's death, how could anything be normal?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Triad Verse Big Bang. You can find out more about Triad Verse [here](http://triadverse.tumblr.com/post/86154454124/triad-verse-faq). 
> 
> The lovely art was done by Azar, masterpost [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4975846).
> 
> Thanks to [thewildestcucumber](http://thewildestcucumber.tumblr.com/) for the last-minute beta reading and excellent cheerleading. I couldn't have finished this without you!

  
  


"Angie, darling," Peggy says, her voice echoing off the wood paneled walls of the East sitting room. Peggy prefers the West sitting room, as it's much cozier, but this is the one with the piano, so it's the one Angie's been spending much of her free time in. "Do you know what this is?"

Peggy holds up the contraption she found in the kitchen, and her best guess is some sort of implement used for pressing the whey out of cheese. Either that, or it's used for torture.

Angie looks up from the play she's been reading and a bright smile spreads across her face. Peggy tries not to let the fluttering in her stomach show on her face. "Honey, that's a potato ricer," Angie says, setting aside her reading.

"Potato. Ricer." Peggy turns the contraption over in her hands, raising her eyebrows at it. "Why would anyone want to make rice out of potatoes? Perhaps if there's a ration on rice?"

Angie chuckles and stands, taking the potato ricer from Peggy's hands. "It's not for _making_ rice!" She turns the contraption over as well. "My ma always used hers while she was making mashed potatoes. I think it has something to do with getting rid of all the lumps?"

When Angie holds it out to her, Peggy takes back the device. "Huh. I rather like lumps in my mash."

Grinning, Angie pulls Peggy close and puts a quick kiss on Peggy's lips. "I'm thinking maybe we should leave the cooking to Jarvis."

Peggy rolls her eyes. "Now that Howard is back, Jarvis is too busy for all that. Surely we can feed ourselves, darling. Haven't you learned some things from working at the diner?"

Angie puts her hands on her hips and raises her eyebrows. "Pegs," she says, her voice tight. "If you think–"

Panicked now that she's obviously offended Angie, Peggy exhales loudly and insists, "No! No, no." She sets the potato ricer aside and pulls Angie into her arms. "We'll order in. And maybe we could learn to cook a few things, together?"

Angie's smile is at once fond and exasperated, causing a pain in Peggy's chest that's difficult to ignore. Peggy never imagined she would be this lucky. Again.

Clasping her hands behind Peggy's neck, Angie says, "Well, alright. But, when I get rich and famous, the first thing I'm doing is hiring us a chef."

Peggy laughs and nods, setting her forehead against Angie's. "It's a deal, then."

With a chuckle, Angie closes the distance between them, pressing her lips to Peggy's. Angie tastes like coffee and lipstick, her tongue sweet as it darts playfully against Peggy's. Allowing herself a small laugh, Peggy says, "Why Miss Martinelli, are you trying to seduce me?"

Angie tilts her chin down and looks up at Peggy. "English, that was the whole first six months I knew you." She slides a hand down Peggy's back and cups her buttock. "I'd say you're pretty well seduced."

Peggy laughs loudly, kissing Angie again before she can make any more ridiculous claims. With both her hands in Angie's hair and Angie's lips on hers, it's easy for Peggy to forget the world outside this home Howard has given them.

When the doorbell rings, a harsh electric buzz that seems at odds with the elegance of the house, Peggy releases Angie with a sigh. So much for forgetting the outside world. "Are you expecting someone, darling?"

Eyes wide, Angie shakes her head. "I haven't even told my mother the new address."

As she disentangles herself from Angie, Peggy mentally reviews a list of people (friends and enemies) who might've found them here. "Perhaps it's a delivery," Peggy says over her shoulder in a cheerful voice, hoping to put Angie at ease. Still, it's after dark, and Peggy doesn't fight the instinct to take up a fire poker as she passes the fireplace on the way to the main hall.

Through the window next to the heavy wooden door, Peggy sees a familiar face. She keeps the poker in hand, but opens the door. "Dum Dum Dugan? What brings you to my–"

A figure steps out from behind Dum Dum, and even though his face is scarred and stubbled, and his hair is long, and he's missing his left arm almost completely, Peggy recognizes him instantly. The fire poker falls from her hand, clattering on the marble floor of the entryway. "James?"

His voice rough and weak, James gives half a smile. "Hey, Pegs."

Peggy can hardly breathe. "You died."

James gives her a rakish smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Not quite."

A million questions speed through Peggy's mind, but before she can decide which one to ask first her sense of manners takes over. "Well, come in, then."

"Nice place, Peggy," Dum Dum says as he brushes past her. He stops short when he sees Angie, looking her up and down. "Well, hello!"

Angie raises an eyebrow at Dugan. "Not on your life, big boy."

Dugan laughs, telling Peggy, "I _like_ her!"

"'Her' name is Angela Martinelli," Peggy tells Dugan, carefully not quite touching James as she guides him into the house. As she closes the door, Peggy says, "Angie, this is Timothy Dugan and James Barnes."

"Dum Dum," Dugan says, offering Angie his hand. Peggy is surprised when Angie takes it. As he drops Angie's hand, Dugan motions towards James. "And we call him Bucky."

Angie points to Dugan. "Dum Dum and…" She points to James. "Bucky? Got it."

"We served together in the war," Peggy explains, showing the guests toward the front sitting room (the one Peggy likes the least, but it is the most convenient, so here they are). With Dugan in the room, Peggy doesn't want to mention the _other_ way she knew James. She'll fill Angie in soon enough.

James settles onto one of the couches in the sitting room, shifting like he can't find a comfortable spot. His missing arm makes him look lopsided, and Peggy's heart hurts at the thought that maybe he _feels_ lopsided. It reminds her of Agent Sousa's limp, and Peggy has to bite her tongue to keep herself from crying. She fears the James she knew is gone.

Before Peggy can gather her wits well enough to ask any of her questions, Dugan says, "Sorry it's so late, Peggy. Us just showing up with no call. We had to come in under the radar, so to speak."

"Under the radar?" Angie asks, standing behind the couch Peggy has sunk into. "Is someone after you? This one time, my brother got into it with the mob and–"

Dugan cuts her off, saying, "It's definitely not the mob." He turns to Peggy. "I heard about another Leviathan post, this one several hundred miles South of Moscow. I took the Commandos, and we found…" He turns to face James.

James shifts in his seat as all eyes turn toward him. Suddenly, he stands up. "They're looking for me. We shouldn't have come here."

Peggy stops him before he can leave the room, her hand around his upper arm. "If Leviathan is after you, you most definitely should have come here," she says, trying not to notice how much harder he feels under her hand. He looks away, jaw set, and Peggy knows that expression. Softly, she says, "James." When he doesn't respond, Peggy tries a different angle, "Bucky?"

James shudders, then leans toward Peggy and whispers, "He's dead."

There's no question to whom James is referring, and the mere thought of Steve's death still brings tears to Peggy's eyes. "Yes," she whispers back, choking on a sob. "I…" Peggy looks at the others in the room, and makes a quick decision, pulling James back around the corner. She catches his eyes and says, "I tried to talk him out of it. I did." She manages a sad smile. "In his last moments he–he promised me a dance."

The edge of James' mouth twitches upward and he wraps his arm around Peggy, pulling her close. The loss of James' other arm around her feels like nothing compared to the loss of Steve's arms wrapped around them both. "Of course he did."

After a long moment with her face pressed to James' shoulder, Peggy steps back and wipes the tears from her cheeks. James' eyes are red, but his face is dry, and Peggy hopes he'll let the tears out sooner or later. It's the only way to move on, if moving on is even possible for James.

Scaring up a smile, Peggy puts her hands on James' shoulders. "Well, then. Obviously, you'll be staying here. Once I kept Howard Stark's presence in a woman's boarding house secret for twenty-four whole hours. I'm sure I'll be able to keep Leviathan from finding you."

"Pegs–" James starts to say, but Peggy cuts him off.

"No. We have plenty of room, and it's very quiet here, which is sure to be good for your recovery. And I…" Peggy shakes her head. There's such a thing as unloading too much information on a person at once, especially when they've been through what it looks like James has been through.

James gives her a long moment to finish her thought, and when she doesn't, he huffs. "I'll be fine on my own."

"No, you won't!" Peggy cries, her voice louder than she means it to be. Taking a breath and bringing her volume down, Peggy looks into James' eyes as she explains. "I let Steve get on that plane by himself, and…" Her voice catches, so she swallows and tries again. "And he didn't come back. Buck, I _need_ to keep you safe. Do you understand?"

"You…" James searches Peggy's face, and eventually he nods, his shoulders sagging. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

"Okay." Peggy takes another deep breath to compose herself, giving half a thought to Angie and Dugan in the sitting room. "Follow me. You look dead on your feet, old friend."

"I think I might be," James replies, his voice light and his attention absent, like he doesn't realize he's said it out loud.

~*~

Angie can't say she enjoys being left alone in the room with a man who willingly calls himself Dum Dum, but she knew getting into this relationship that Peggy has more baggage than most. This is especially true when it comes to what Peggy did during the war. Peggy hasn't told Angie much, just that she served as an "Agent", whatever that means. Angie's pretty sure Peggy was some sort of spy, which just tickles Angie pink. She's willing to overlook the strange, if friendly, man in her sitting room if it means she gets to be with an honest-to-God spy.

"So," Angie says to Dum Dum, "where you from?"

"Boston," he replies, resting one ankle on the opposite knee and setting back into the sofa. "And yourself?"

Angie crosses her arms. "Brooklyn.”

“Ah, I should’ve guessed,” Dugan says with a laugh.

Angie’s not quite sure what’s funny about where she’s from. She raises an eyebrow at him.

Shaking his head, Dugan says, “Nevermind. Tell Peggy I’m debriefing my superiors. I’ll talk to her again soon.”

“Um, okay,” Angie says, watching as Dugan leaves _without_ his friend. Angie has to assume that James or Bucky or whatever-his-name is staying here, in their house.

Well, it’s sort of their house. Mostly it’s Howard Stark’s house, and he’s letting Angie and Peggy stay there for now. Angie still doesn’t know how she got so lucky. She went from a regular kid in Brooklyn, who worked at a diner when she wasn’t auditioning for bit parts in stupid plays and commercials, to dating a British spy and living in a mansion.

She wonders if anyone would be interested in the movie rights to her life.

Peggy takes a long time upstairs with her old friend, and Angie starts to get suspicious. She paces around the lower level of the house, trying to find something to keep her mind occupied. She’s sure she’s just being paranoid, right? It’s not like Peggy ever _dated_ this old friend. Of course, Angie hasn’t asked much about Peggy’s previous lovers. When they first started seeing each other, Peggy was still insisting she only worked at the phone company. When Angie found out about Peggy’s real job, she figured anything about Peggy’s past was dangerous to reveal, and Angie didn’t want to go deliberately stepping on landmines.

Now, Angie’s wishing she’d dug a little deeper.

Angie is halfway through counting the ridiculous number of silver spoons in this ridiculous house, when Peggy reappears alone. “Angie, darling,” Peggy says, her smile tired and sad, and her tone serious.

Angie drops the spoons and gives Peggy her full attention. “What’s going on? What’s with your friend?”

Peggy’s eyes slide away and she sighs. As she looks back at Angie and holds out her hand, Peggy asks, “Come sit with me?”

“Yeah, alright.” Angie puts her hand in Peggy’s, her stomach in her shoes as she prays to God she hasn’t made a mistake and trusted the wrong person here. Angie’s had good luck trusting her gut so far, and her gut has had nothing but good things to say about Peggy Carter.

Peggy leads Angie to the kitchen at the back of the house and sits her down at the wooden table, before filling the kettle and putting it on the stove. It’s funny, Angie doesn’t really notice Peggy’s accent anymore, but she does notice the way Peggy’s always making tea. Angie’s never had as much tea in her life as she has during the three weeks she’s been living with Peggy.

As the kettle heats on the stove, Peggy sits down next to Angie. It takes a few tries before Peggy gets any words out, and when she does, all that comes out is, “Darling…”

Angie rolls her eyes. “Lay it on me, toots. Whatever this is about, I can handle it. I promise.”

That gets a laugh out of Peggy, and seems to calm her down, which means Angie calms down too. Whatever Peggy has to say can’t be any worse than what Angie’s imagined in her lesser moments. And Angie figures she _can_ handle whatever this is about. If she wanted to form a primer couple with a sweet girl from back home, she could’ve done so several times over already.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out, Peggy says, “James isn’t just an old friend I served with.”

Keeping her eyes steady on Peggy, Angie replies, “No kidding.”

Peggy frowns briefly, but continues with her story. “During the war, I worked very closely with Steve Rogers–”

“Captain America?” Angie cries, cutting Peggy off. “Are you serious?”

“Yes!” Peggy replies, putting her hands over Angie’s. “As I was saying, I worked closely with Steve, and… Well, we developed feelings for each other.”

Angie nods, suddenly sad for Peggy. Everyone knows that Captain America was lost in the war. “No wonder you were so down when I met you.”

Scaring up a smile, Peggy nods. “Before we got close, Steve told me about his datefriend, Bucky. They’d been together since they were young, and even though Steve wasn’t sure where Bucky had ended up, or even if he’d ever come home, he needed to check with Bucky before he and I– Before we could be truly together.”

“Makes sense,” Angie says, turning her hand over in Peggy’s to hold onto her. “My brother’s childhood datefriend enlisted, but they ended things before he left. Didn’t want to wait on each other since they were getting separated.”

Peggy looks down at her hand in Angie’s, her lashes dark against her pale skin. Angie wants to kiss Peggy’s eyelids, her cheeks, her whole damn face. She doesn’t want to ruin the moment, or interrupt Peggy’s story, so Angie stays put, simply rubbing her thumb over the back of Peggy’s hand.

Eventually, Peggy continues, her voice light and sad. “When Steve was doing his tour in France, we learned that James, _Bucky_ , had been captured by German forces. I knew how much James meant to Steve and I couldn’t bear to let Steve go after James on his own, so…” Peggy shrugs. “We defied orders and dropped in over enemy lines.”

“Dropped in… You jumped _out of a plane_?” Angie cries, barely avoiding the urge to stand up in horror. “Do you still jump out of planes?”

Smile bright and laugh louder than Angie expects, Peggy looks away. “Sometimes.”

“Margaret Carter, if I wasn’t so fond of you…” Angie doesn’t know where she’s going with that threat, but she figures Peggy gets the hint. Still shaking her head, Angie takes a breath. As she lets it out, she asks, “So, what happened with Steve’s man behind enemy lines?”

“We found him,” Peggy says, pushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. “And for the next year, the three of us were practically inseparable. Steve formed the Howling Commandos, and I was their liaison to the intelligence community. Angie, we turned the tide of the war.”

Angie sits there gaping. She knew Peggy was a spy during the war, but a spy for the famous Howling Commandos? “Are you pulling my leg?”

Shaking her head, Peggy replies, “No. I swear, it’s true.”

“Wow.”

“Yes.”

Angie takes a moment to process everything Peggy has said. Not only was Peggy part of a stable triad for a whole year, but she was in that triad with Captain America and Captain America’s best friend. Angie starts to think that Peggy’s the luckiest woman on earth, but then it occurs to her that the relationship ended at some point. Then Angie remembers. “When you saw him, you said he’d died.”

“That’s what Steve told me,” Peggy replies, looking down at her hands, her eyes shiny. Angie’s heart hurts for her. “They were on a mission with the Commandos, and James fell. He fell from two hundred feet up. There’s no way he could have survived.”

“Except that he did,” Angie points out. “He’s in our house, Pegs.”

Peggy gives a sharp laugh and licks her lips.

“What?” Angie asks.

“James always called me that,” Peggy explained. “Pegs.” She laughs again, but it’s not a good sound.

The kettle whistle blows and Peggy stands, going to the stove and pulling the china teapot and cups from the cupboard. Her back to Angie, Peggy leans on the counter and says, “James and I only really had one thing in common.”

Angie waits a moment for Peggy to continue before asking, “What was that?”

Peggy shrugs, her shoulders close to her ears as she rests her weight on the counter, like her legs aren’t strong enough. Her voice so soft, Angie can barely hear her, Peggy says, “We both loved Steve.”

Unable to stand it any longer, Angie stands and goes to Peggy, wrapping her arms around Peggy’s waist and laying her head between Peggy’s shoulders. “Oh, honey.”

The way Peggy’s shoulders shake tell Angie she’s crying, and Angie’s always been a sympathetic crier, so her eyes tear up as well. Peggy turns in Angie’s arms, and they hold each other, crying quietly, long enough that the kettle has stopped steaming completely and the tea Peggy makes isn’t as strong as usual. Angie bites her tongue so she doesn’t tell Peggy she likes the tea better this way.

When Peggy’s cup is drained and Angie’s is almost there, Peggy rests her head on Angie’s shoulder. “I need to help him, Angie. I need to have him here.”

Angie understands – she really does – but the question that comes from her mouth is, “For how long?”

“I don’t know,” Peggy replies. “He’s not the same as before. God only knows what he’s been through in the past year.”

Angie’s not quite sure what to say about Bucky’s presence in the house. She doesn’t think Peggy’s planning on getting back together with him in Steve’s absence, but you never know about these sorts of things. So, as far as Angie sees it, she’s got three options here. Get out of Dodge and let Bucky and Peggy be together, try to force herself into a triad with the two of them, or fight to have Peggy all to herself.

The decision’s made when Angie realizes that she’s not one to back down from a fight, especially a fight this important – even if her opponent is a scary one-armed soldier, who’s been held captive by something called Leviathan for the past year.

He can’t be that bad. Right?

~*~

Bucky’s on his feet with a heavy candlestick in his hand and his breath coming heavy and fast, when he realizes he has been dreaming. There aren’t any doctors here in Peggy’s ridiculous house. Only Peggy, and the woman Bucky assumes must be Peggy’s new datefriend.

Dum Dum says Bucky’s been gone a year. It doesn’t seem like that long. He suspects they had him sedated for much of the time, because he remembers flashes of violence. He remembers taking up a scalpel from the table beside him and slitting throats like it was nothing.

Steve wouldn’t have done that. He would’ve found another way out, without getting blood on his hands.

Bucky feels drowned in it.

They tell him Steve is dead.

Forgetting where he is, Bucky cries out. He always knew Steve was going to do something stupid and get himself killed. Knowing doesn’t make the pain any more bearable.

Bucky would say that waking up in a world where Steve is dead feels like losing a limb, but he knows what that’s like now, and Steve’s loss is much, much worse. Bucky feels hollow. He’s missing his soul.

The scary part is, he felt this way before Dum Dum told him about Steve’s death. He thinks he might have felt this way since he was first captured by Hydra, two – no, almost three – years ago.

He shouldn’t be here, in Peggy’s house, when he has nothing to give her besides bad memories and a near-inability to tie his own shoes.

Dropping the candlestick to the polished-wood floor, Bucky takes up his jacket and shrugs it on, hating the way his left sleeve swings about, empty.

When Bucky takes a step, the sound of his boot hitting the floor startles him. He almost expected his boots to be empty as well. Maybe they should be.

Bucky’s reaching for the bedroom door when a hesitant, but loud knock startles him into freezing. A woman’s voice says, “Um, hello? Is everything alright in there? James?”

Chuckling at the name (only his parents and Peggy have ever called him ‘James’), Bucky suddenly feels more solid in his shoes. He opens the door quickly, wanting to startle whoever’s on the other side, so they know he’s formidable, even with one arm missing.

Peggy’s woman from the night before jumps a few inches into the air and squeaks. When Bucky doesn’t make any more sudden movements, she puts a hand to her chest and breathes out loudly. “Whew. You scared me there, mister!”

Bucky’s not sure what to say to that. He never scared women before the war that turned him into _this_. He screws up his mouth to one side and shrugs.

The woman’s shoulders drop, and she clasps her hands together in front of her skirt. “Are you alright? I heard some pretty,” she pauses, holding her breath for a second before continuing, “ _interesting_ noises.”

Clearing his throat, Bucky says, “Fine.”

It doesn’t look like she believes him.

Shrugging again, Bucky adds, “Nightmare.”

“Ohhhhh!” Rolling her eyes, the woman chuckles. “We’ve all been there, right?”

Before Bucky can argue that there’s no way more than a few people on earth could possibly have experienced things as bad as what fuels his nightmares, the woman has a gentle hand on his good arm.

“So, it’s midday. You want some lunch? I think Jarvis brought us some stuff for sandwiches. It’s probably pastrami, because of how Jarvis somehow got the impression that I like the stuff. No, sir. Give me a nice salami any day, but you can keep your pastrami.” Guiding Bucky through the house as she speaks, the woman takes a breath and asks, “You like pastrami, big guy?”

“I don’t mind it,” he says, his stomach giving an audible gurgle.

The woman laughs, and that’s how Bucky ends up at a kitchen table with a pastrami sandwich in his hand, and Peggy’s new gal talking his ear off.

He thinks this situation might be more surreal than when the Leviathan doctors were trying to get into his brain to hypnotize him. He wonders for a moment if maybe he’s still back at the lab in Russia, but he figures even they couldn’t get a meal to stay warm for much more than three minutes. Bucky has been working on his sandwich slowly for the past ten minutes, and the meat is still steaming. He must be home.

"...got a good chance at getting this part," the woman says, " _especially_ if I can memorize all the lines before the auditions. Directors really notice how prepared you are." She tilts her head toward Bucky's plate. "You gonna eat that, or what?"

Bucky blinks at the woman for a moment, before finally asking, "What the hell is your _name_?" He probably has too much exasperation in his voice, but he's too tired to be polite. And hungry. Bucky takes a bite of his sandwich.

Mouth opening and shutting as she stares at Bucky with bug-eyes, the woman eventually says, "Angela Martinelli. My friends call me Angie."

Smirking, Bucky can't help but ask, "And am I your friend?"

A beautiful grin spreads across her face, and Angie says, "If you help me memorize my lines for this audition, you'll be my _best_ friend. _Bucky_."

That is how Sergeant Bucky Barnes, former prisoner of war and current amputee, finds himself reading lines of a play with Angela Martinelli.

Sitting at the kitchen table in Peggy's ridiculous house, Bucky reads lines in his best approximation of a grandmother's voice. "And you'll come right back home, if you know what's good for you!"

Angie opens her mouth to respond, but instead of her line ("I'll never be a free woman!") she laughs. Full-on peals of raucous laughter burst forth from this woman, so much so that she ends up snorting loudly. "Oh, my god! Oh, my god, Bucky! You're too much!"

"Isn't that how the grandmother's supposed to sound?" Bucky asks, trying not to smile at her giggles. He thinks he might be failing, but maybe he doesn't remember how it feels to smile, either.

"Sure it is," Angie replies, chuckling again. "But you don't quite _look_ like a grandmother, you know?"

Bucky's not even sure he knows what he looks like anymore. He's barely glanced in any of the mirrors he's seen since Dum Dum and the other Commandos pulled him out of that facility. Bucky holds out his good arm and asks, "How would you make me look more like a grandmother?"

Tapping her fingers against her chin, Angie says, "Well, you'd need a grey wig, probably. And a hat. One of those church hats that my mom keeps trying to get me to wear. Maybe a nice cardigan sweater with a pin." Leaning closer, Angie asks in a conspiratorial tone, "Want me to look through Peggy's things? See if she's got anything like that?"

Bucky knows that Angie and Peggy are living together. No one's said so explicitly, but he's fairly certain Angie and Peggy are datefriends. Maybe Angie could go rummaging through Peggy's things and Peggy wouldn't care. But what if they're not datefriends? Bucky can't encourage Angie, because he doesn't want a repeat of the time two infantrymen decided to go through Peggy's underthings and got black eyes for their troubles.

Looking around, Bucky sees a dishcloth hanging from the oven door, and a pair of reading glasses next to the box that holds recipes, if this kitchen is anything like his mothers'. Buck gets up (still getting used to how unbalanced his upper half is when he tries to walk), and takes up the dishcloth. He tosses it around his shoulders in a poor imitation of a shawl. Bucky then picks up the glasses and sets them on his nose before asking, "How do I look now?"

"Perfect," Angie says with another peal of laughter. She leans forward and squeezes Bucky's wrist. It's just a quick, friendly gesture, but it makes Bucky's arm feel lighter than it has since he woke up after falling from that train. "Let's memorize those lines!"

Peggy walks in half an hour later, just as Bucky is dying for the tenth time, and Angie is weeping over his prone, dish towel-covered form. "Why, Grandma, why? Why did you have to leave me all alone?"

Around the edge of the towel, Bucky sees Peggy stop short, her mouth falling open. "Angie?" she asks, the edges of her red-painted lips turning upward. "James? What's going on here?"

Beneath his towel, Bucky says, "We're memorizing lines."

"Your friend James is _fantastic_ ," Angie says, taking the towel off of Bucky's face and smiling down at him. Bucky thinks with the overhead light behind her like that, Angie looks a little bit like an angel. It certainly would be fitting, given her name. "I should take him to my acting classes. They'd love him!"

"One thing at a time," Peggy says, offering her hand to Bucky, who takes it and lets Peggy help him to his feet. Peggy says to him softly, "You didn't have to play along if you didn't want to."

Bucky feels a little bit like Steve when he asks, "What if I wanted to?"

Peggy gives him that fond-but-exasperated smile she always used to give him when he and Steve were joking around. That thought, that everything might be normal except Steve's absence, makes the room around Bucky waver. Clearing his throat, Bucky tells the girls, "You know what? I think I'm gonna go take a rest. Angie, it was fun."

"Anytime," Angie replies, as Peggy puts her arm in Bucky's and leads him from the room, obviously aware of his not-quite-stable state. "I mean it, Buck. Anytime."

As they ascend the stairs up to Bucky's guest room, Bucky says to Peggy, "I'm happy for you, Pegs."

"Oh?" Peggy asks, stopping for a moment and turning to look at him. She takes the glasses from Bucky's nose and smooths back his hair. "That means a lot to me, James. I–" She sighs. "I feel like an absolute wretch for moving on with my life while you were…"

Bucky doesn't want her pity. He doesn't need it. "It's fine, Pegs," he says shortly, resuming his trek up the stairs. "Don't worry about it."

With the way Bucky can feel Peggy's eyes on his back, he knows she's going to worry about it anyway.

Bucky shuts himself in his room and tries to remember how not to think. It doesn't go so well.

~*~

Peggy barely has time to slow Howard down before he's bursting into the sitting room, bellowing, "Well, well, w–"

His voice is cut off by James's hand around his throat, and Peggy thinks maybe it will just be easier if she lets the two of them kill each other. Still, she'd feel bad, and James would surely feel worse, eventually. She steps in and puts her hand on James's shoulder, murmuring into his ear. "It's alright, James. This is Howard Stark. He's a friend. He was _Steve's_ friend."

At that, James releases Howard and curls in on himself, muttering, "Sorry."

Howard coughs and rubs at his neck, waving flippantly with the other hand. "No, no. My fault. I should've known better than to burst into my own house."

James gives Peggy a confused look, so Peggy has no choice but to divulge the truth. "I helped Howard out with his SSR problem, he gifted me with the use of _one of_ his homes. He lives elsewhere."

"Right, right," Howard says, standing up and straightening out his jacket. "So, I hear someone is in need of a prosthetic?"

The look James gives Peggy this time is almost betrayed. Peggy scoffs. "Don't be silly, James. Howard is the best engineer in the country, and a good friend. He'll do right by you."

James looks back and forth between Peggy and Howard, and then down at what's left of his arm. He lifts it up a little, the outline of the stump more apparent under the fabric of his pinned-up sleeve. Peggy's starting to get used to the sight, but it still gives her a sharp quivering feeling in her stomach.

Howard must see James's indecision as an opening, because he says, "Now, I'm not offering a completely functional arm, but I think I can build in a few gizmos. Make it look as real as possible."

"No," James says, shaking his head and covering the stump with his remaining hand. "It's even more unnerving if it looks real."

Peggy freezes as she contemplates James's words. "So, you would like Howard to build a prosthetic?"

Still rubbing the stump of his arm, James looks down and nods. "I figure if I'm gonna have a robot arm, it might as well look futuristic."

Howard beams. "That is something I can definitely do! It's a whole new age of science, my friends! Why not embrace it?"

"Tell that to the Japanese," James says with a snort.

Peggy presses her lips together tightly, finding the joke in incredibly poor taste, but also being amused by the shocked expression on Howard's face.

"Right," Howard says after a moment. "Some inventions are more terrible than they're worth. Let's hope a simple replacement arm doesn't fall into that category, huh?" Howard gives a nervous chuckle, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets.

James gives Howard a slow nod, his face neutral, but somehow relieved around the eyes.

"And you will keep it _simple_ , won't you, Howard?" Peggy asks, giving Howard a stern look. She's been through the files, seen each of Howard's outrageous inventions. She knows what he's capable of.

Howard chuckles nervously. "Of course! Simple it is! I'm just thinking you'll want a ratcheting grasp mechanism so you can hold things, maybe a hydrolic on the elbow so you can carry things. Lightweight, of course. Ideally the same weight as your right arm for balance." Howard taps his chin with his index finger. "I might have an appropriate material. _Metal_ , like you said."

James gives Howard a long look, and then nods. "Alright."

"Alright?" Howard asks, a smile forming on his face. "Alright! I just need to take a few measurements, and then I can get started. Take off your shirt?"

James hesitates, his hand at his collar as he cuts his eyes toward Peggy. "Pegs? You mind?"

Peggy's about to tell him not to be silly, that it's nothing she hasn't seen before, but that's not strictly the case. Peggy hasn't seen what's left of James's arm since he came home from Russia. At this point, with James looking at her like he's begging, Peggy's fairly certain he doesn't want her to see it.

Deciding that honoring James's wishes is better than trying to strong arm her way back into his confidences, Peggy says, "Yes, of course," and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her.

"Miss Carter," says a familiar voice at Peggy's right, and she sees Jarvis standing there, his hat in his hands. "It's nice to see you."

"You, too, Mr. Jarvis," Peggy replies, of half a mind to press her ear against the door, even though Jarvis is there to witness what would surely be an unwise move. "Would you like some tea?"

"Oh," Jarvis says, with a surprised smile. "If you think Mr. Stark will be a moment, I would love a cup."

"Even if it only takes him another minute," Peggy says, walking past Jarvis and satisfied when he falls into step beside her, "I'd like some tea, and I'd like the company."

"Happy to oblige," says Jarvis, and how Peggy has missed him in these last two months.

Peggy allows Jarvis to help her make the tea, knowing he needs to make himself useful wherever he goes. "Thank you," she says as they sit down across from each other at the small table in the kitchen.

"How is the, um, _patient_ settling in?" Jarvis asks, picking up his cup and blowing over it to cool the tea.

"Honestly?" Peggy asks, turning her cup back and forth as she waits before drinking it. "I'm not sure. He's never be an overly talkative man, but now?" Peggy shakes her head, and chuckles sadly. "Angie had him practicing lines with her last week, but when I try talking to him…"

"Ah," Jarvis says with a compassionate look, before he takes a sip of his tea. "You know, Anna and I had a difficult time, shortly after the war. We lost our third at, um, at Trieste."

"I didn't know that." Peggy reaches forward to lay a sympathetic hand on Jarvis' elbow. "What was his name? Or her?"

Jarvis looks through his tea and sighs. "Angus. He was very headstrong. I think you would've liked him."

Smiling sadly at the notion, Peggy asks, "And his death affected your relationship with Anna?" She finally allows herself to take a sip of her tea. The heat isn't quite painful, but close.

"Of course it did." Jarvis smiles sadly. "But then we had Mr. Stark to attend to, and life continued on. The Americans honored our marriage papers as a standing couple and that was that."

Peggy wishes it was just that simple for her and James. Maybe it could be, but the war and his year spent MIA have greatly affected him. Add to that the fact that in his absence, Peggy started seeing a woman James doesn't even know, and Peggy's not sure there's _any_ getting past this. Perhaps only as good friends.

"I just want him to let me help him," Peggy says, feeling lighter just for airing her frustration.

With a wry, sad smile, Jarvis says, "Time heals all wounds."

"I beg to differ," Peggy replies, taking another sip of her tea. There's nothing that's going to bring back James's arm, though perhaps Howard will be able to fashion something serviceable to take its place.

~*~

Peggy wakes to a chipper, "Wake up, sleepyhead," and a kiss on her lips. A smile spreads across Peggy's lips as she stretches and opens her eyes, finding Angie's face just inches above hers.

"I'm awake," Peggy insists, finishing her stretch and catching Angie before she can move away. Peggy pulls Angie close again, giving her another kiss. "What's got you in such a good mood this morning?"

Angie chuckles low in her throat. "Besides last night?"

Peggy laughs as well, holding Angie close, but Angie ducks out of her hold.

"It's my first day of rehearsals," Angie reminds Peggy. "I've got to get all the way across town, and I can't be late on my first day!"

"Do you want me to walk with you to the underground?" Peggy asks, but she's fairly certain she knows what Angie's answer is going to be.

And there it is. Angie gives Peggy an unimpressed look. After a moment, she smiles sweetly and says, "Goodbye, honey. Have a good day!"

Peggy waves and gets herself out of bed. She still hasn't figured out whether or not she wants to go back to the SSR. She could do something else entirely, but honestly, Peggy has been doing this work so long, she's not quite sure who she is apart from it.

It takes great effort not to just keep laying in bed until Angie gets back, but of course Peggy has her own needs to attend to, and she likes to spend at least some time with James every day. A loud stomach gurgle is what finally convinces Peggy that she must get up and get dressed.

Once that task is accomplished, Peggy feels much more ambitious. Maybe today is the day she calls Howard and tells him about the idea that's been sniping at the edge of her mind ever since Fennhoff's capture and Dottie Underwood's escape. She's sure Howard will have connections to the people willing and able to get Peggy's idea off the ground.

Contemplating whether or not she wants to work out a few more ideas before calling Howard, Peggy heads toward the kitchen. As she reaches the stairwell to the lower floors, she hears James's voice, "God damn it!" The voice is coming from James's room, the door of which is slightly ajar.

Curious, Peggy knocks on the door as she opens it further. "James?"

She sees him before he can respond. He's sitting on the edge of his bed, pulling on the straps that keep his metal arm attached. One strap of the contraption Howard built is in James's hand, while the other is clenched between his teeth. The skin around the prosthetic is puckered and marred, dark with scar tissue, while the rest of the skin on his back is just as pristine as when Peggy first saw it.

James looks at Peggy over his shoulder, his eyes dark with fury, his nostrils flared and his lips curled in a snarl. There's a tilt to his eyebrows, though, that Peggy recognizes. He's embarrassed.

Stupid men and their stupid pride.

Peggy scoffs. "Oh, for heaven's sake!" She rounds his bed and stands in front of James, her hands on her hips. "Would you like some help?"

Scowling, James stares at Peggy for a moment before he appears ready to say something. He spits the strap out of his mouth and starts to say, "N–"

The arm falls, and James just barely catches it with his good hand before it hits the floor between them. He draws the arm back up into his lap and clenches his jaw as he meets Peggy's eyes.

Peggy looks right back at James, ignoring his wounded arm for now. Instead, she raises an eyebrow at him. She knows it's important for his pride and self-worth that he be able to take care of himself, completely. However, that doesn't mean she thinks he's wise to refuse every single moment of help Peggy has offered him since he arrived in this house a month ago.

James holds out for almost a minute before he scoffs and looks away from Peggy's slowly-blinking stare. "Okay, fine." He holds out the arm toward Peggy more like it's a machine gun than a prosthetic, sideways, like he's keeping the barrel from pointing at either of them.

"No, no," she says, holding up her hands, instead of taking the arm from him. "You should put it on yourself. I'm just an extra pair of hands. Tell me what to do."

The ghost of a smirk on James' lips makes Peggy chuckle, a bolt of hot possibility shooting down her spine and making her shiver. James's eyes widen just slightly before he turns his attention back to the prosthetic, tucking the bulk of it under what's left of his left arm. Peggy doesn't think she's imagining that James's cheeks are slightly redder than they were a moment ago.

Busying himself with the straps, James keeps his eyes on the prosthetic, and not on Peggy. Oh, now she's sure of what she's seeing. Peggy's heart flips in her chest and she has to swallow against the urge to gush at James for the emotional strides he's made, if he can start to loosen up around her, as well as around Angie.

James flings some of the straps behind his back and then fits the stump of his arm into the prosthetic. Addressing Peggy without looking at her, James says, "Hold this here, huh?" He nods at the arm.

"Of course," Peggy says, stepping closer to James and putting her hands on the metal arm Howard has built for him.

While Peggy holds the arm still, James reaches around his back for the straps there. One set he pulls all the way across the span of his shoulders, hooking the middle two fingers of his right hand into the partial glove at the end. Once that's done, he takes the other strap from the back and connects it to the strap in front, around his torso and under his right arm. He pulls the harness tight until the straps dig into the skin on his chest.

"There," he says, rolling his shoulders. He presses one of the buttons in the glove on his right hand, and the fingers on the prosthetic spread apart, then cycle back toward closed when he presses the other button. "Almost like the real thing, huh?"

Finally, James looks up at Peggy, meeting her eyes. She feels like she hasn't been allowed this close to him since Steve was alive. He smells of the metal and grease in his prosthetic, but the rest of his scent is achingly familiar. It reminds her of Steve and Peggy finds herself leaning closer, chasing the scent of him.

"Pegs," James says softly, reaching out with his right hand, and setting it on her waist. He stands, which closes the distance between them. James's face is too close to Peggy's for comfort, but Peggy can't bring herself to take a step backward. He whispers, "Thank you," and the long stare he gives her makes Peggy think he's not just thanking her for the extra hand getting his prosthetic on. He's thanking her for the past six weeks, and maybe more.

Peggy hears the blood rushing through her ears, heart thumping in her chest as she takes a sharp breath. James is shirtless here in front of her, and Peggy's not sure what she's allowed to touch, or where the boundaries are.

In their relationship with Steve, it was patently obvious that both Peggy and James were there for Steve. Steve was the one who'd brought them together, after all. Steve was the one they focused on, and part of Peggy wondered if that weren't true because Steve liked it that way. One could imagine that after a lifetime of being small and weak, Steve might let no longer being small and weak go to his head a little.

Peggy allows herself to reach forward and touch James's bare chest with her fingertips. Steve's not here anymore, but James is alive. His heart beats fast and steady under her hand.

"Peggy?" James asks, his voice rough and soft, his eyes flicking back and forth between looking at Peggy's eyes and looking at her mouth.

Peggy doesn't make the conscious decision to rock forward and press her lips against James's, but that's what ends up happening. As soon as Peggy realizes that she's kissed James, both without permission from James, and without consulting Angie first, and without Steve here at all, she pulls away. "I'm sorry," she whispers.

"Hey," James says, one edge of his mouth tugging upward, trying to smile. "Don't be."

James is looking down, but as Peggy watches his face, she sees those twitches of almost-smiles several more times. They aren't full smiles, but to be fair, Peggy's not sure she's ever seen Bucky's full smile. Steve used to insist that Bucky had one, a _beautiful_ one, before the war.

Peggy wonders if it's not such a lost cause, trying to find it again.

James clears his throat and says, "Peggy? Pegs."

Peggy tries to meet James's eyes, but he won't look at her. "Yes?"

"Would it be alright if I asked you and Angie to dinner?" He asks. Once the sentence is out there, he sits up straighter, squaring his shoulders and finally looking Peggy in the eye. "Would it?"

Her smile threatening to take over her face, Peggy nods. There's a tear on her cheek, so she wipes it away with a laugh, saying, "I mean, we'll have to ask Angie if she wants to go, but I would very much like that."

"Good," James replies, another one of those almost-smiles on his lips. He puts his hand over Peggy's and squeezes it. "Good."

 


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky follows the dance for a few more steps before taking Angie's hand and spinning her around, pulling her back in, and then dipping her with his good arm. As he brings her back up she's laughing, her smile bright in the fairy lights Stark's people have strung up all around the ballroom. Bucky passes Angie over to Peggy, moving to dance behind Peggy while she takes a turn whirling Angie around.

"Okay, okay!" Angie laughs, falling into Peggy's arms, but keeping her hand on Bucky's shoulder. "If we keep dancing like this, I'm gonna die of exhaustion. And right before Christmas. My ma's gonna have both of your heads."

Bucky feels like laughing, but all he can scare up is a smile. It's like his body doesn't remember how to laugh. Instead of dwelling on that thought, Bucky squeezes his arms tight around Peggy, hooking his chin over her shoulder. Peggy pats Bucky's arm and smiles at him over her shoulder.

It's been three months since Peggy first kissed Bucky, and while Bucky still sleeps in his own room, he feels like things with the girls are moving steadily forward. The past is still a heavy weight, dragging him backward (especially in the middle of the night), but Peggy and Angie have been pulling him forward even harder. He's sure one of these days, Angie's going to remind him how to laugh again.

"Some punch?" Bucky asks, letting go of Peggy's middle and reaching his hand out for Angie. 

"Well, of course!" Angie replies, taking Bucky's hand and practically skipping toward the refreshments table Stark's people keep restocking as the night wears on. 

Peggy follows them, hanging back when Howard calls out to her. 

Bucky knows Peggy can take care of herself. Hell, he's _seen_ it first hand. Still, he can't help but keep half his attention back on her, just in case. He doesn't know what could happen here at Howard Stark's Christmas gala, but the war has left Bucky with this unending feeling that nowhere is completely safe. 

After all, the Russian Leviathan agents may still be after Bucky. Dum Dum and the other Howling Commandos freed Bucky from them almost six months ago, but that's no guarantee Leviathan has forgotten about him. He almost didn't come tonight, but Angie gave him the face. If there's anything Bucky has learned about himself during the last six months, it's that he's useless against the face. He knows Angie is also aware of this fact, so Bucky has to trust that she won't use it to hurt him.

Bucky finds himself trusting this little firecracker from Brooklyn more than he wants to. He imagines it's like the conditioning Leviathan tried to lay on him while he was captured. Steve broke something in Bucky's brain and now it's Angie reaping all the benefits. Bucky wants to be mad at Steve for that, but mostly he's just angry at Steve for being such a self-sacrificing little shit.

Bucky fills glasses for both Angie and Peggy, but by the time Peggy reaches the refreshments, she has Howard's boyfriend-of-the-week by the wrist. A bright smile on her face, Peggy says, "Can you believe Peter doesn't know how to fox trot? Who wants to help me teach him?"

Bucky shares a look with Angie, a begging, pleading look, which thankfully, she understands. Knocking back the last of her punch like it's a shot of the hard stuff, Angie says, "Alright, Petey-boy. Let's fox trot!"

Angie grabs Peter's other hand, and lets Peggy lead both of them back to the dance floor. Bucky watches for a few moments before turning away. For all that he protested not to know the steps, Peter's a much better dancer than Bucky. If Bucky keeps watching, he knows he's not going to be able to keep the suspicion off his face. If Peter is a Levianthan spy, Peggy can take care of him. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky sees a figure approaching. His heartbeat kicks up a few notches, and the fingers of his right hand ball up into a fist, until he realizes it's Howard Stark. A bright smile on his face, Stark asks, "So, are you enjoying yourself, James?"

"Uh-huh," Bucky replies, stuffing an hors d'oeuvres into his mouth so he doesn't have to say anything else. 

"Good!" Howard says. He raises his hand like he's going to clap Bucky on the shoulder, but then pauses before dropping his hand. He clears his throat awkwardly and then asks, "How's the arm working out?"

Bucky looks over at his mechanical arm. He lifts it up away from his body, pressing the buttons in his right hand to make it swing outward and open the hand. Closing the hand and swinging the elbow back in, dropping his shoulder, Bucky says, "Fine. Good for holding onto things, anyway."

Stark grins. "Good! That's fantastic, James!"

Bucky sniffs and grabs another hors d'oeuvres. "Could be better."

Stark's face falls, which is what Bucky was going for. Not that he wishes Stark ill, but sometimes guys like him just need to be taken down a peg, in Bucky's opinion. "Uh, yes. Well," Stark says, shuffling his feet and looking out at the dance floor.

Bucky follows Stark's eyes and sees him watching Angie, Peggy, and that Peter guy dance. Bucky wonders if maybe they'd be better off finding a man like that, a man who was still whole. Still, Bucky can't help but imagine a future where he's still with them.

He doesn't imagine either Peggy or Angie will want a family, but he thinks that's fine. He doesn't know what he'd have to offer a family. He doesn't even have a job of his own. Sure, Dum Dum made sure he keeps receiving military paychecks under an alias, but as far as Bucky's concerned, that's all back hazard pay. Maybe eventually he'll figure out a way to earn it.

In fact, Peggy's been taking an awful lot of meetings with Stark and a bunch of the higher-ups at the Department of Defense. Maybe whatever it is they're setting up will lead to a position where Bucky could be useful. He only has one arm, but he can still fire a rifle, and he's had more up-close-and-personal battle experience than most of the guys still alive after the war. Turning to Stark, Bucky asks, "So what is it that you and Peggy have been pushing to the big brass? She won't tell me about it."

Stark's eyes widen and his mouth falls open for a brief second. Then he clears his throat and says, "That's, uh, classified. Sergeant."

"Uh-huh," Bucky replies, taking a sip from his glass of punch. He gets his left arm arranged correctly so it can hold the drink without him having to think about it much. "Classified. Like the little science project that turned my boyfriend into a super soldier? Like that?"

With an embarrassed chuckle, Stark shakes his head and waves his hands. "Oh, no. Nothing like that!" He grins and leans closer to Bucky, his voice low as he says, "As far as science goes, I've been developing a new sonar method. If I can get the algorithms right, I should be able to detect metal under any surface. Including ice!"

There's only one metal object Bucky knows of that anyone might want to find that's trapped beneath ice. He clenches his right fist, _hard_ , forgetting about the buttons on his palm. His left hand opens and his drink spills, the glass bouncing on the carpeted floor. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?" Stark backs away from Bucky, bumping into the table and holding up his hands. "Hey, hey! Of-of all people, I thought you'd be happy that I'm–"

"Don't bother!" Bucky cries, the volume of his voice getting away from him. He's so upset and so angry he feels he might just strangle Stark right here and now. To put that lure right in front of Bucky's nose, only to inevitably pull it away when Stark finds it impossible to deliver on such a promise. How dare he? And just when Bucky's starting to think he's beginning to put the past behind him.

"James," Stark says, his eyes wide, this time with fear. "I just want to find him. Bring him home. I have a theory, is all. Come on, pal."

Stark's eyes cut toward the rest of the room and Bucky realizes they're being watched by everyone in the place. Shit. Bucky can't be here right now. If he kills Stark in front of all these witnesses, for one, Peggy will be more than a little upset with him, and for two, the manner of Stark's death is sure to hit the newspapers. If that happens, it's only a matter of time before Leviathan finds him.

Without another word, Bucky drops his eyes and gets the hell out of there. Peggy and Angie are smart, capable women. They can get home without him. They're going to have to.

~*~

"He's been shut up in his room ever since the party," Angie says, leaning her head against Peggy's shoulder. "Do you think he's eaten anything all week?"

Peggy sighs. "Several items from the pantry have gone missing during the night. He's keeping himself alive, at least." She dusts off her skirt and then takes Angie's hands in hers. Angie wishes Peggy wasn't wearing her traveling gloves, because she likes the feel of Peggy's skin on hers much better. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?"

Angie rolls her eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure. I'll be at the theater most of the time, and the fella's," she points at the ceiling, and Bucky's room above the kitchen, "nightmares are only a little disturbing. If I get lonely, I'll just go to my mother's place in Brooklyn."

"I'm sure she'll appreciate the help with your grandfathers," Peggy replies, and Angie knows she's trying to be nice, but Angie could really do without the reminder of what her ma's been dealing with lately.

"Yeah, thanks," Angie says, rolling her eyes. "As if I don't feel guilty enough already, living in this giant house, with the five of them crammed into that little apartment."

With a smile, Peggy leans over and kisses Angie. "I should go. Howard and I have a train to catch."

Angie nods, and stands when Peggy does. "Say hi to old Honest Abe for me, huh?"

With a chuckle, Peggy heads for the door, saying over her shoulder, "I'm not sure we'll make it over to that end of D.C., but if we do, I'll be sure to give Mr. Lincoln your regards."

Angie follows Peggy from the kitchen toward the front of the house. "Yeah, see that you do."

With one final kiss, and one final, concerned look up the stairs, Peggy's out the door, and Angie's alone. Or as close to alone as one can be while still sharing a house with someone.

Still, the theater's closed today, and Angie has the day off. Perhaps she should phone up one of her friends. See if Betty or June, or someone wants to meet up for drinks or something. Angie's definitely not the type of person to sit alone in the house if she doesn't have to.

Just as Angie turns to go find the nearest telephone (since this house has a gosh darn phone in every room), she hears a noise from upstairs. It's not the frightened shouting that usually accompanies a nightmare, so Angie holds still, waiting and listening. Eventually, she hears footsteps come down the stairs. 

Turning, she sees Bucky just as he rounds the corner from the bottom of the stairs back into the hallway. His hair is unkempt, and it's starting to get long again, like when he first got back to the states. However, he's wearing real person clothes, pants and a shirt, and he's shaved, so Angie thinks he must not be doing as bad as he was. Bucky stops short when he sees her. "Oh."

"Oh?" Angie asks, putting her hands on her hips. "That's all you've got to say for yourself after a week squirreled away like a hermit?"

Bucky's eyes cut sideways, like he's contemplating running back upstairs and hiding there until Angie eventually gets frustrated and leaves. 

"Oh, no you don't, mister," Angie says, taking a few careful steps closer to him. She knows better than to try to grab Bucky, even if she does think he could do with a tug on his ear to get him to behave. "You're not disappearing on me again. You are coming into the kitchen and I'm watching you eat something."

"Angie…"

"No!" Angie says, feeling brave enough to stick her finger in Bucky's face. He flinches, but doesn't otherwise overreact. "As your girlfriend, it is my duty to make sure you take care of yourself."

Bucky's eyes widen, but he nods dumbly and leads the way to the kitchen. His shoulders are hunched under Angie's watchful eye as he gets into the kitchen and starts assembling himself a sandwich. Once he takes the first bite and Angie rewards him with a smile, Bucky relaxes. "Satisfied?" he asks with his mouth full.

"Yes," Angie replies, leaning close enough to kiss Bucky on the cheek. She wipes off the tiny bit of lipstick she leaves behind and adds, "You're lucky I like men with horrible table manners."

Bucky takes another bite before setting the sandwich down. Then he grabs Angie and pulls her into his lap, making her giggle with surprise. "What about men with horrible manners all around?"

Angie winds her arms around Bucky's shoulder and neck, telling him, "Oh, _those_ men I can't stand."

Bucky laughs, just a short chuckle accompanied by a smile. Angie grins, because that's only the third time she's gotten Bucky to laugh ever. 

Angie sits in Bucky's lap and reaches for the sandwich, tearing off a bite and holding it out. Bucky takes it from Angie's fingers with his lips, his eyes growing dark. Angie shivers. 

Needing to distract herself, Angie feeds Bucky another bite. And then another. Soon, the sandwich is half gone, Bucky's arm around Angie's waist. 

"So," she says, leaning on Bucky's shoulder. "When are you going to tell me about the thing that set you off this time?"

Bucky sets down his sandwich and sighs. He doesn't look at Angie, but he says quietly, "Stark."

Angie tuts and shakes her head. "What did Howard do this time?"

Bucky shrugs, like he's not going to tell her, but then he appears to relent. "Said he could find Steve's plane."

"Oh," Angie replies, because what else is she supposed to say. Steve Rogers was very important to both Bucky and Peggy. He was their third before Angie was in the picture, and his death has the both of them monumentally screwed up. Carefully, Angie pets Bucky's shoulder and says, "Maybe it would be for the best."

Bucky stands up, making sure Angie's steady on her feet before he stalks away. Angie's sure she's blown it, but before he exits the kitchen, Bucky turns and paces back toward her. He does this a few more times, until finally asking, "How? How would it be for the best?"

Angie keeps her eyes on Bucky, because he's looking a little wild and it wouldn't be the first time he's accidentally hurt someone while that look is in his eye. Holding out her hands like he's a damn stray dog, Angie says, "Because maybe you could finally bury him. You know? Be done with him. Because, I gotta tell you, Buck, living is Steve God Damn Rogers' shadow is the worst!"

Bucky deflates again, going still, his eyes actually on Angie, rather than the floor. "Ange?"

"Look," she says, slumping down into the chair at the head of the table. "I understand that Steve was a pretty special guy. I know you had a long history with him, and that's not something you just get over. All I'm saying is that having a grave you can go visit when the need arises might help. Might help you move on, maybe with me." Angie sighs, her eyes on her hands. Her chest aches, but she thinks maybe it just hurts because she's finally acknowledged the elephant sitting on it.

Whatever Angie expected Bucky to do, it was not kneeling down on the floor beside her and putting his hand over hers. He doesn't look up at her, but he says, "Maybe you're not entirely wrong about that. I just–" He shakes his head and sighs, but stays put, staring at Angie's knee. "You know, at the party, I was watching you and Peggy dance." Bucky looks up, giving Angie a tentative smile. 

"Yeah?" Angie asks, her heart fluttering in her chest. "You like what you saw?"

"I did," Bucky replies, giving Angie a bashful grin. "I thought maybe I could see a future here. For us." He takes his hand away from Angie's and scratches his opposite shoulder before putting his hand back. "That's why I was so fucked up about Stark finding Steve's plane. I was so damn close to being okay with him being gone, and then Stark..." Bucky shakes his head. 

"Yeah, I get it," Angie says, leaning down to place her cheek on the top of Bucky's head. "Having to deal with this shit is hard."

Bucky hums and nods. He asks quietly, like he's revealing a secret, "What if I never really deal with it?"

Angie shrugs. She really doesn't know what to tell him. 

"Cause I figured," Bucky says, clenching his jaw and looking past Angie. "I figured when I dealt with it, I would work up the stones to ask you and Pegs to marry me."

A surprised laugh escapes Angie's mouth before she can stop it. "Oh, my god!"

Bucky starts to look offended, so Angie grasps his face to keep him from pulling away. 

"Hey, as long as you don't expect me to give up the theater, or Peggy to give up her work, I think I'd like to get married," she says, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice. After all, there's a big "if" that needs to be resolved before Angie's dreams of big white dresses and wedding bells comes to fruition. "It would be nice."

"Yeah, it would be," Bucky says carefully. He gives Angie a lopsided half-smile. "You think Pegs would be on board?"

Angie bends down, putting a gentle kiss on Bucky's lips. "I think we could probably convince her. If we can keep you from disappearing for a whole week again."

"A day or two?" Bucky asks, a twinkle in his eye.

"I think we can compromise on a day or two," Angie agrees, kissing Bucky again. "When you really need it."

Bucky doesn't laugh, but he huffs, and that's almost good enough.

~*~

Bucky wakes up with a start, which is strange, because he was dreaming about playing with the pack of dogs that used to hang around the old neighborhood. Steve was always allergic to them, but Bucky couldn't help but make friends with some of them. 

Perhaps he was woken by a dog barking outside? He knows the old woman living across the street has an ancient lap dog. He's seen her walking it through the neighborhood, during several of the hours he's spent sitting at the window and trying not to think.

Beside Bucky, Angie shifts, rolling toward him. Before they fell asleep, Angie said her mother would be furious to know she was sharing a bed with him before marriage, but with Peggy gone, she was too nervous to sleep alone.

Bucky has to admit, he's slept better in the past few hours than he has in days.

The pillow calls to Bucky and he almost gives in and lays back down, but then he hears it. A slight scratching noise at the back of the house. It's too methodical to be an animal. It sounds more like someone trying to pick the lock on the kitchen door. 

Bucky's heartbeat ratchet's into overdrive and he slides out of bed. Before he can breach the bedroom door, there's a squeak of hinges and more than one set of boots tromping into the house. Bucky doesn't know how he can hear these things so well, given the size of the house, but he's not going to question it now.

He could sneak out of the bedroom to scout out what's going on downstairs, but Peggy's voice in his head tells Bucky not to be stupid, and not to leave Angie unguarded. Bucky tiptoes over to the bedroom door and turns the key in the lock, before stealing back toward the bed. He kneels on the edge of the bed and gently shakes Angie’s shoulder. It takes her a few shakes before she rouses, groaning. “What? Nightmare?”

“There’s someone in the house,” Bucky whispers, pressing his finger to Angie’s lips so she doesn’t cry out. “I think they’re here for me,” he explains. “We need to find a place for you to hide.”

“No way,” Angie hisses, though she follows when Bucky directs her out of bed with a hand around her wrist. “I know where Peggy hides all the guns.” 

Angie pulls her wrist out of Bucky’s grip and climbs back onto the bed, hanging her front half over the headboard. She pats around behind the headboard for a second, before whispering, “Ah-ha!” Bucky can’t see what she comes away with, but he quickly finds her by sound and feel.

“Give me that,” he says, following Angie’s arm down to the piece of cold metal in her hand. “Has Peggy taught you how to use one of these?”

“No,” Angie replies. “But only because I didn’t _want_ to learn.”

Bucky sighs and checks the gun, which is more difficult than he’d like to admit with his prosthetic arm sitting on the bureau under the window, and all the lights off. It seems to be loaded, which would make sense with Peggy’s sense of preparedness. 

He turns toward the bedroom door, listening as best he can over the sound of Angie’s shaky breaths. The footsteps have grown closer, and Bucky’s still sure they’re here to take him back to Leviathan. He knows he’d rather die than go back to that lab. The problem is, he can’t figure out how to prevent the capture from happening without leaving Angie at the mercy of these people. He’s not going to do that, either. Angie’s innocent in all this, and god damn it, Bucky loves her. He has to protect her.

The sound of scraping metal from behind him draws Bucky’s attention. “Ange?”

“I’ll try not to shoot you,” Angie says.

Bucky knows she can’t see him, but he rolls his eyes anyway. “Thanks.”

Reaching the top of the stairs, the footsteps are accompanied by a flash of light, which filters into the bedroom through the space under the door. Bucky finds himself holding his breath, which is no good going into a fight. He lets his breath out his nose slowly, and once his lungs are empty, takes in a slow breath.

The light passes the bedroom and heads to the end of the hallway. Bucky hears the footsteps head up the stairs to the attic. During his convalescence here at the house, Bucky has done a fairly thorough inventory of the house, excepting Peggy and Angie's room. He knows there's nothing of value up in the attic. So why are the burglars heading up there?

Bucky whispers to Angie, "Stick close," and then he carefully opens the bedroom door.

Together, he and Angie creep down the hallway, toward the staircase at the end. Angie hisses, "What do you think they want?"

Bucky shakes his head and shushes Angie as loud as he dares. At the foot of the stairs, Bucky pauses. He looks up and sees the light from the flashlights bouncing off the wall at the landing. The footsteps move further into the attic and the light dims, so Bucky deems it safe to head up after the intruders.

At the turn of the landing, Bucky pauses again, looking around the corner to make sure their approach is clear. He almost expects a German soldier to be standing at the top of the stairs, but there's no one. Bucky stays crouched as he heads up the final few stairs, just in case they hear him. He's got his gun pointed at the ceiling, the weight of it mostly resting against his shoulder. Without another arm to brace the weapon, it would be too heavy to hold out in front of him for long.

Peeking into the attic, Bucky sees two men rifling through the chests and boxes. The men are armed, but neither has a gun drawn, which Bucky can definitely use to his advantage. He grips his gun tighter and rushes forward, knocking the closer man on the back of the head. As the first one falls, Bucky trains his gun on the second, saying, “Stay right there. Don’t move.”

The man’s eyes are shiny and wide in the dim light of the flashlight that he dropped into the box he was searching. He cocks his head, almost like he doesn’t understand Bucky.

The Russian slips from his mouth before he realizes what he’s saying. " Не двигаться ".

With a snarl, the guy goes for his gun. Bucky’s shot hits him in the middle of the forehead and he crumples to the floor. 

Angie squeaks behind Bucky, and he assumes it’s from the shock of seeing him shoot someone, until an unfamiliar female voice says, “Drop it, or I’ll kill her.”

Bucky turns, and a shadowed figure has an arm around Angie’s neck, a gun at her temple. Angie's shotgun is nowhere to be seen. Without even weighing any other options, Bucky drops his gun to the floor and puts his palm toward the figure. Nothing can happen to Angie. Bucky will die before he lets anyone harm her.

“Both hands,” the woman says, emphasizing her words with a shake of her gun.

Bucky scoffs and steps slowly into a brighter spot of light. “I left the other one downstairs.”

With a laugh, the woman tells Bucky, “Kick the gun away from you.”

Bucky doesn’t like it, but he follows the order anyway. The gun clanks a few times as it slides across the wooden floorboards, coming to rest near one of Stark’s dusty old chests.

“Thank you,” the woman says as she pushes Angie toward Bucky. Angie stumbles, but keeps her feet under her.

Automatically, Bucky pulls Angie behind him, while keeping his eyes on the woman. “What do you want?” he asks her.

“The Faraday Codex,” the woman replies, flipping on the light switch. She has long, curled blonde hair and is wearing bright red lipstick. If she wasn’t holding a gun on him, Bucky thinks she wouldn’t look intimidating at all.

Bucky blinks in the suddenly bright light, taking a fraction of a second to look over at Angie. Angie looks just as confused as Bucky about whatever thing the woman is looking for. “I don’t know what that is,” he says, checking with Angie again, who shakes her head. “We don’t know what that is.”

“You don’t have to know _what_ it is,” the woman replies, “as long as you tell me _where_ it is.”

“How are we supposed to do that?” Angie asks, peeking out from around Bucky’s left shoulder, her hand on his hip. “If we don’t know what it is, how would we know where to find it?”

“You can tell me where Agent Carter keeps a safe, and how to open it,” the woman says, her teen bright white in her red-lipped smile. 

“We don’t know where that is either,” Bucky insists, eyes scouring the room. Somehow he needs to get the upper hand on this woman. Even though there’s two of them, and only one of her, Bucky thinks it’s a task easier said than done. The calm, almost happy, tone of her voice makes Bucky sure she’s a professional. 

She doesn’t even flinch with disappointment at Bucky’s words. Smile still bright, she says, “I don’t believe you.” Taking a length of rope from the bag on her back, the woman tosses it to Bucky, who catches it in his hand. “Tie her up. Nice and tight.”

Bucky frowns, but turns toward Angie. “Have trouble tying my own shoes…” he grumbles, but he figures he’s got to at least look like he’s following the woman’s orders. He tucks the bulk of the rope in the pit of his left arm and gets one of the ends loose, unraveling enough to wrap around Angie’s hands a few times. 

Angie glares at the woman, even as she holds her wrists together out in front of her. “Just so you know, Peggy’s going to kill you for this.”

“I have no doubt she’ll try,” the woman replies, taking a few steps closer. “Again.”

Bucky watches her out of the corner of his eye as he wraps the rope around Angie’s wrists. Again. Peggy must have a history with this woman. A bad history. If that’s true, there’s only a few ways that this will work out, and most of them are bad for him and Angie.

“Faster,” the woman says, her composure breaking just slightly enough that she sounds annoyed. Maybe that’s the effect she’s going for.

“I’m going as fast as I can,” Bucky replies, even though he has been moving deliberately slowly, just to buy himself time to think of something.

With a scoff, the woman says, “Fine.” She gestures to Angie with her gun. “You tie him up. Arm tight against his waist.”

Angie’s hands shake as she slips them free of the rope Bucky managed to get around her wrists. Angie gives Bucky a slight, encouraging smile and says, “Sorry, Buck.”

She sounds just like Steve used to whenever he got himself into trouble. The comparison makes the blood rush in Bucky’s ears.

Time slips away from Bucky and before he knows it, he’s tied up and the woman has holstered her gun, taking out another piece of rope and twisting it around Angie’s wrists, behind her back this time.

This looks like an opportunity, and Bucky doesn’t want to let it slip away before he does something about it. Taking long strides, Bucky rushes at the woman, knocking into her using his shoulder, like when he used to play football in school. 

She doesn’t go down as expected. She pulls some sort of gymnastic move and fluidly pulls her gun, striking Bucky across the face with it. When Bucky doesn’t go down, she looks surprised, but no more than Bucky himself. The hit hurts, but it doesn’t rattle his brain the way Bucky’s expecting it to. Instead, it makes this terrible rage bubble up from the pit of his belly.

Without knowing _how_ he does it, Bucky snaps the rope around his arm, knocks the gun out of the woman’s hand, and gets his arm around her neck.

She throws herself backward, but Bucky’s grip doesn’t falter, and he lands hard on her belly, knocking the air out of her lungs. She clutches at Bucky’s arm, scratching it. She knocks her knees against Bucky’s back, gets a leg almost around Bucky’s neck, but still he holds on. Her eyes bug out and her mouth opens wider and wider, gasping for breath that Bucky won’t allow her.

There’s a muffled sound from beside Bucky, and it takes him a moment to realize Angie’s shouting at him. She’s kneeling six feet away, her hands curled into fists on the ground. There are tears on her face as she cries, “Bucky! Bucky, let go! James! That’s enough!”

Looking back to the woman under him, Bucky realizes that he’s killed her. She’s limp and lifeless, and he’s killed her.

“I didn’t mean to,” Bucky whispers, unable to meet Angie’s eyes. “She was going to hurt us.”

Angie gives a shuddering sigh. “I know.”

Looking back down, Bucky suddenly sees Angie there below him, dead with his handprint on her neck. He blinks and it’s a stranger again, but the vision has him scrambling up to his feet, about to be sick. How could Bucky have done this? Why doesn’t he know his own strength anymore? Why can’t he actually remember watching the woman’s transition from alive and squirming to absolutely still?

Why didn’t Angie stop him? 

Bucky looks over at Angie and realizes that she'd probably been trying to stop him. She’s taking a deep breath and looking up at Bucky like she’s never seen him before and Bucky can’t stand it.

He leaves. He runs down the stairs, his bare feet slapping against the wood.

Down the hallway, then down another set of stairs, and Bucky’s out the door. The only piece of clothing he’s wearing are a soft pair of sleeping pants, and the night should be cold without a jacket, but Bucky doesn’t feel it.

Running down the pavement, toward the only destination he can think of, Bucky has one thought running through his brain. _Steve would’ve stopped him._

~*~

"Hello?" Peggy calls as she opens the door, stepping into the house and unwrapping her coat from her shoulders. As she hangs it on the rack near the door, she says, "Anyone home? Angie? James?"

There's no response at all, which makes Peggy nervous. She holds her purse (and the small pistol inside of it) close as she searches the house for any signs of life. When she called that morning before leaving the hotel, there was no answer. Peggy had assumed Angie had finally gotten sick of James and had gone to stay with her mother, leaving only James at the house. He never picked up the phone, so it hadn't concerned Peggy too much.

Thinking perhaps James is still ensconced in his room, since he doesn't seem to be in the kitchen or either of the sitting rooms, Peggy heads up the stairs. The first thing she notices is that the door to the attic is open, which she finds strange. The insulation up in the attic barely exists, so the house stays much warmer when that door is kept closed.

Keeping half her attention on the far end of the hallway, Peggy checks first James' room and then her's and Angie's room. Both are empty, as are their bathrooms. 

"To the attic, then," Peggy says to herself, pulling out her pistol and setting her purse down on the side table in the hallway.

At the top of the stairs, the attic light is on, so Peggy calls up, "Hello? Anyone here?"

Nothing. The house is completely silent. There isn't even anyone moving around. 

Peggy doesn't like this one bit. 

Carefully, she climbs the stairs, her gun held down and at the ready. Once she turns at the landing and her line of sight clears the top stair, she sees someone lying on the floor. It might be Angie, but she looks too tall, an observation Peggy tries not to hang onto too tightly, just in case it is Angie. 

Stopping, Peggy listens again, but again there's no movement, so she heads up the rest of the stairs. As she gets up to the top, she sees another pair of shoes – men's shoes, on a man lying face down.

Peggy approaches the woman first, relieved to see it isn't Angie. Instead, it's Dottie Underwood, and it appears as though she's been strangled to death. Peggy starts to move away from the body, but then she realizes this could be a trap. Dottie is clever enough to lure Peggy into a false sense of security.

Gun still at the ready and pointed at Dottie's chest, Peggy crouches down and uses her free hand to touch Dottie's neck. She's ice cold, and there's no hint of a pulse. Now that she's closer, Peggy notices the way Dottie's eyes are clouded and dry. She's definitely dead. There's no faking this.

With a sigh, Peggy leaves Dottie's body, and goes to investigate the man. On her way, she sees another man's body at the far end of the attic. How many bodies are up here? When is she going to find James' body? Or Angie's?

The man with the shoes is dead as well, from a wound to the back of the head, it looks like, and the third body has been shot between the eyes. There's no sign of either of Peggy's datefriends, which she finds a tiny bit relieving, but mostly worrying. Where could they be?

What was Dottie doing here? She was working with Leviathan. Was she looking for James? Did one of her co-conspirators take him away?

Worried half to death, Peggy runs down the attic stairs and takes up the telephone in the hallway. She asks the operator to connect her to Angie's mother, hoping her voice isn't wavering too badly. After the second ring, a familiar voice answers, "Hello?"

"Angie, thank _God_ ," Peggy says, steadying herself with a hand against the wall. "Are you alright?"

"Not really," Angie replies. She sounds more weary than Peggy feels, which is certainly saying something. "Not after what happened last night."

"Were you at the house when..."

"Yes," Angie says. "They came in the middle of the night. Bucky woke me up." There's a lot more to the story than Angie says, Peggy's sure of it.

She doesn't want to upset Angie with a barrage of questions, but that doesn't stop Peggy from thinking of them. The most important is, of course, "Is James there with you? Is he alright?"

Angie pauses for a moment and Peggy's heart sinks. 

"Did they take him?" she asks, holding her breath as she waits for Angie's response.

"No," Angie says, and Peggy lets go of the breath she'd been holding. "But after he killed those people, he freaked out and ran away." After a short pause, Angie adds, "Pegs, he was _so_ strong. I've never seen anything like it."

Peggy remembers what little she and Steve were able to get out of Bucky about his time in captivity to the Red Skull. The Nazis too had been working on a super soldier serum. With a sigh, Peggy says, "I have."

Before Angie can respond, the doorbell rings. Who would be calling at this hour? Into the telephone, Peggy says, "Are you alright there, Angie? I've got to get the door."

"Yeah, I'm okay, English," Angie replies. "Not sure I want to stay in that house anymore, but I'm alright."

"Good," Peggy replies as the doorbell rings again. "I'll call you a bit later, darling. Goodbye."

Hanging up, Peggy grabs up her purse and hides her pistol back in it, still at the ready. She hurries downstairs, taking a moment to peek through the door before she opens it.

"Mr. Jarvis, what are you doing here?" Peggy asks, waving Jarvis in. "Come, come."

“I’m afraid I come bearing some … _significant_ news,” Jarvis says, taking off his hat as he enters the house.

Peggy closes the door. “I hope this news is extraordinarily significant, because James has run off and I need to–”

Jarvis cuts her off. “He’s at Mr. Stark’s.”

“What?” Peggy asks, crossing her arms over her chest. “Why would he go _there_?”

“He, uh, expressed interest in Mr. Stark’s new radar project,” Jarvis says, shaking his head sadly. “He was not in good condition, Miss Carter. We found him shivering on the doorstep, no shoes, no coat, no shirt. I suggested the hospital, but Mr. Barnes wouldn’t have it.”

Peggy chews on her left thumbnail. She’s seen James fairly unstable during the past six months, but she thought he’d been getting better. Her eyes cut toward the attic upstairs and she wonders how much of this backslide had to do with the people who invaded their home in the middle of the night. Dottie Underwood had brought them, which meant they were undoubtedly here for Peggy. 

They wouldn’t have come to the house if it wasn’t for her. They wouldn’t have attacked Angie and Bucky if it wasn’t for her.

Deciding that what-ifs were better left to a later time, Peggy turns her attention back toward Jarvis. “What’s this new radar project? What does it do?”

Shifting on his feet, Jarvis hedges a bit. “Well, I wouldn’t … Mr. Stark didn’t …” Hanging his head, Jarvis sighs. “It’s meant to detect certain types of metal under up to a thousand feet of ice.”

“Certain types of …” The idea hits Peggy and makes her knees wobble. She grabs onto the wall next to the door for support. “Like _aircraft_ metal?”

Jarvis nods.

“They’re looking for…?”

“Captain America, yes,” Jarvis replies, his voice soft and his eyes sympathetically searching out hers. "Mr. Stark has a theory about the serum he was given."

Peggy takes a sharp breath, "And James believes him. Oh, God!" Plucking her coat from the rack, Peggy jams her arms through the sleeves and secures the buttons quickly. "What happens when Howard's invention works and they find Steve's body? What if James does something worse than running through the city without shoes?" 

The floundering expression Jarvis gives Peggy makes her huff.

"If I can't talk them out of trying out this asinine plan, I'm going to have to go with them," she tells Jarvis. "You have the car?"

"I do," Jarvis replies, following Peggy out the door and watching as she locks it before thinking better and unlocking the door. Jarvis frowns at this action. "Miss Carter?"

"I'm going to use the phone in your car. The SSR is going to want to know about the bodies in the attic," Peggy says, leading the way toward the car.

"B-bodies?" Jarvis repeats, following behind Peggy as she stalks away from the house.

Just when Peggy thought her life was getting put in order, something just had to come by and scramble everything up. Peggy had James, she had Angie, she almost had the military brass interested in the defense organisation she and Howard have been envisioning. Now what does she have? A girlfriend who's moved back in with her mother, a boyfriend who's almost certainly had a mental breakdown, and a friend intent on digging up her dead boyfriend.

Peggy almost wishes she was back in the war. At least the war hadn't been this emotionally confusing.

~*~


	3. Chapter 3

The sound of the radar machine Stark has built might possibly be the most annoying sound in the entire world. Bucky hangs his head and claps his hands over his ears. He’s even wearing the hat with the earflaps that Peggy pushed onto his head, despite his protests. Even through the fur, and the padding, and Bucky’s hands, the sound of the radar reaches Bucky’s ears.

It’s been a constant ping-bleep sound for the past three hours, and they haven’t found anything big enough to be an airplane. Bucky thinks maybe he should’ve stayed behind, should’ve waited back on land, where maybe there would’ve been a distraction or two to keep him thinking about Stark’s crazy theory.

Then Bucky realizes that he wouldn’t have been able to distract himself. He would’ve been thinking about Stark’s theory. At least this way, he gets to experience the moment at which they find it. _If_ they find it. 

It’s a long shot, Bucky knows. Even if they do find the plane, there’s nothing saying Stark’s theory is correct. 

Still, this one thought keeps occurring to Bucky.

The Nazis – Hydra – injected Bucky with something. Perhaps the same something they stole from Stark after Steve was transformed. Bucky fell several hundred feet. He lay in the snow, bleeding from his severed arm, for a long, long time. A normal person would’ve died. Bucky should have died. He might have been lying there a few hours, but Bucky feels like it might’ve been weeks, or even months. They tell him he was missing for a year before Dum Dum found him.

Bucky only remembers being in Russia for maybe three months.

What if Bucky was in the snow the rest of the time?

He shouldn’t have survived.

Steve didn’t get transformed by Nazis using a formula they didn’t understand. He was transformed by Howard Stark, himself. 

Who’s to say Steve hasn’t survived in the ice?

Bucky thinks if anyone could do it, Steve could. He’d be too stubborn to let a little thing like freezing to death keep him down forever.

Up in the cockpit, Howard is piloting the plane, and Peggy’s sitting in the seat beside him. He heard through Peggy that Angie was staying in New York. She said it was so she wouldn’t lose her part in the play, but Bucky’s sure that what Angie saw him do has a lot more to do with her decision. That’s why Bucky’s sitting in the back by himself, exactly the way he wants it. 

Recent experience has taught him that he is capable of killing a highly-capable person one-handed. Logically, Bucky knows that he was only trying to protect Angie. Logic has nothing to do with Bucky’s dreams, or how he perceives reality while he’s coming out of them. No, the only person strong enough to keep themselves safe from Bucky, is Steve.

If this plan doesn’t work, if they can’t find Steve, or if he’s well and truly dead, then there’s no point in Bucky being around anyone else. Not until the nightmares stop.

Bucky’s fairly certain the nightmares will never stop.

There’s going to be at least a few that will revolve around this damn sonar noise. 

Ping-bleep. Ping-bleep. _Ping-bloop._

Bucky raises his head. “What was that?”

Peggy shakes her head and Stark leans over to look at the screen between them. “It’s something,” Peggy says, just when Bucky thinks she's ignoring him again. “Something big.”

Getting up out of his seat, Bucky walks over toward the cockpit. He steadies himself with his hand on the back of Peggy's seat as he leans over her shoulder to see the screen. The radar lights up whenever it makes that "bloop" noise, and there's definitely the shadow of something underneath them.

"Hang on," Stark says, pushing on the throttle and banking to the side just far enough that Bucky has to widen his stance and tighten his grip on Peggy's chair. "I'm going to circle around again, try going lower to get a better look."

Bucky finds himself holding his breath as they turn slowly back around. He reminds himself to breathe, but it's difficult when the screen starts lighting up again, in the shape of a very large airplane.

"That's it," Stark says, throwing up one of his hands in victory. "We've found it!"

"Perhaps," Peggy says, giving Bucky a look from the corner of her eye. "Now, how do we get to it?"

"I'll radio the boat as we make another pass," Stark says, turning the plane in a long, slow circle again. "One of you throw some flares out as we pass over it."

Peggy starts to get out of her seat, but Bucky lays his hand on her shoulder. "No, let me do it."

Her jaw clenching, Peggy frowns at him. "James, you'll–"

"I won't fall," Bucky tells her, staring Peggy down until she relents and nods. 

"Just, please use a safety harness," she says, turning back toward the screen. Bucky knows he isn't supposed to hear the way she mutters, "Don't need to lose both of you in that ice. Again." He hears it anyway.

Bucky hasn't been wearing the arm Stark made for him, not since the day before those spies came into the house. Getting the safety harness strapped around his torso is difficult without it, as the left shoulder keeps slipping off his stump. Eventually, after getting his teeth involved, Bucky tightens the thing enough that it stops slipping. It's a little difficult to inhale all the way, but at least he can clip into the railing near the side cargo door and feel like he's following Peggy's instructions.

Shouting up toward the cockpit as he opens the door, Bucky says, "Just tell me when!"

Peggy holds up one finger in response, her eyes glued to the screen as Stark finishes making the turn and flies over the crash site again. Bucky can just barely hear Peggy's voice over the wind when she cries out, "Now!"

He lights up a flare and lets it fall, before doing the same for three of its brothers. He cranes his neck out the door, the icy wind in his hair, freezing his skin dry, and watches the flares fall, fall, fall, until eventually they hit the ice.

Bucky wonders what it would feel like to fall with them. He's certain he's already got a good idea.

On that thought, Bucky closes the airplane door and wraps his arms around himself. He should be cold, but he's not. It's nice to pretend he is.

~*~

Angie takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "It's okay, Ange," she tells herself softly. "You're a big girl. You can do this."

She clutches her bag close to her waist and starts climbing the hospital steps. Well, at least Peggy told Angie it was a hospital over the phone. It looks more like an office building.

At the top of the steps, there's a nondescript door, and the numbers over it match the ones Peggy gave her, so Angie reckons this has to be the right building. Unless she wrote the numbers down wrong.

But, nevermind. Angie is an actual actress now, which means she knows how to act, and this situation certainly calls for some acting. She pretends she's the most important person on the whole island of Manhattan, and pushes open the door.

There's a woman in a blouse and sweater sitting at the desk in the lobby area, and she stands up, blinking at Angie through her thick glasses. "Miss Martinelli? They've been expecting you."

"Yes, of course," Angie replies, trying not to let the surprise show on her face. "Which way?"

"Follow me," the woman says, leading Angie past her desk and toward the elevators. The elevator brings them up to the eleventh floor, where they walk down a hallway to one of the many identical doors. The woman knocks on the door and a moment later, Peggy opens it.

"Angie," she says on a loud exhale. Peggy steps forward and reaches for Angie, but stops halfway, like she's not sure her embrace is welcome.

Part of Angie does want to deny Peggy the hug, but mostly Angie just figures she's been away from both Peggy and Bucky for the majority of two weeks. Peggy might not deserve the hug, but Angie certainly needs it anyway. She steps into Peggy's arms, squeezing her close and resting her forehead against Peggy's shoulder. "Hey, English."

"Hello," Peggy replies softly. To the woman who directed Angie, Peggy says, "Thank you, Sylvia."

As Sylvia nods and heads back toward the bank of elevators, Peggy pulls Angie further into the room and closes the door. There's a curtain blocking them from the rest of the room, which Peggy pulls away to reveal what looks like a standard hospital room. There's a bed, some equipment, and a few chairs around the bed. Bucky is sitting in one of the chairs, and he's looking at the man in the bed.

Logically, Angie knows that the man in the bed—the one with wires strung from his chest to a box next to the bed, and with a tube running from the bottle hanging above his bed down to his arm—is Captain America. That's Steve Rogers lying in that bed, even though everyone knows he died during the war.

Of course, Bucky also died during the war, and he ended up on Angie's and Peggy's doorstep half a year ago. 

It almost makes Angie wonder how many more of the boys America sent to war will end up coming home eventually. Probably not that many of them. Somehow, for some reason, Angie's with Peggy, who knew both of the men capable of coming back from death.

It's almost too much to bear.

"How?" Angie asks, not sure whether she's asking Peggy or Bucky or God, maybe.

Her voice soft, Peggy says, "Stark's men excavated the ice over the plane and pulled it up. We found Steve's body inside the plane and brought him home." She looks over at the bed, an excited, if wavering, smile on her face. "When he thawed, his heart started to beat."

"Has he woken up yet?" Angie asks, noticing the way Bucky hasn't moved at all since she arrived. Angie's not even sure he knows she's in the room.

Peggy shakes her head. "Not yet."

Standing here in the room, the fourth person, Angie feels almost like she's intruding on a private moment. She shouldn't be seeing Steve Rogers like this. He doesn't look like a super soldier, like the man who changed the tide of the war. He looks small, almost. Maybe like he was before Howard Stark changed him. 

Angie starts to turn away, toward the door, thinking of a number of excuses she could use to get out of there. Peggy puts a hand on Angie's arm. "Stay?" Peggy asks, slipping her hand down to lace her fingers around Angie's. "Tell me about your play?"

Bucky doesn't even know Angie's here, but Peggy wants her to stay, and Angie can't say no to Peggy. The inability is going to get Angie into trouble someday, she knows it. 

Several hours later, Angie is sitting next to Steve Rogers's bed, Edwin Jarvis sitting across from her. Peggy has taken Bucky home to get a few hours of sleep. Angie wonders if Bucky's slept at all since that night he left her alone, but it didn't seem like the right time to ask.

It's late, and Angie's a little punchy, and anxious about getting enough sleep so she can perform tomorrow night. In her right mind, Angie never would've asked out loud, "What am I doing here?"

Across Steve's bed, Jarvis looks up and furrows his brows at her. "Pardon me, miss?"

"It's nothing," Angie says, but as she sits there, looking at the almost-lifeless body of the man she replaced, Angie can't hold the words inside any longer. "Actually, you know what? I'd like an answer. What am I doing here?"

The furrow in Jarvis's brow grows deeper and he sits up straighter. "Miss Martinelli? Miss Carter said–"

"Not _specifically_ ," Angie replies, rolling her eyes. "I meant, in general. I'm just sitting here, waiting for this man to take back his datefriends, leaving me alone again. And I really thought I had something special, you know, Jarvis? Bucky was working his way up to proposing. I could see the little house, the white picket fence. Kids, eventually. I could _see_ it. And now?" She sighs, shaking her head and dropping back into her chair. "I should just walk away, is what I should do."

Jarvis clears his throat and hums in a compassionate, agreeing sort of noise. "It's difficult, being in limbo."

Angie's not feeling very kind, so she sneers a little and asks, "How would you know?"

Shifting in his chair, Jarvis, looks down at his hands, and Angie feels bad for making him uncomfortable. Before she can start to apologize, Jarvis says, "Anna and I are very close to someone right now. Sometimes he seems like he might return our affections, but other times he's distant, almost uncaring. It puts us in the position of waiting for him to make up his mind."

Eager for gossip, especially after sitting in this room for so long without even something interesting to read, Angie asks, "Ooh, who is it?"

Angie didn't know English gentlemen could turn that red in the face.

"I-I'd rather not say," Jarvis replies. "What I'm trying to say is that it might not hurt to ask for a little clarification, as to the status of the relationship."

"With all this going on?" Angie replies, gesturing toward the man in the bed. "Asking either of them to make a coherent decision sounds like a fool's errand, if you ask me."

"Maybe not a decision." Jarvis tilts his head in a nod. "A conversation is always a good place to start."

Angie looks at Jarvis, really looks at the way he moves, at the expressions that barely change his face, even as he tumbles through them one after the other. "So, when did you start the conversation with your man of interest?"

Jarvis stills for long enough that Angie thinks she's crossed a line, but then he says, "Y-you have a fair point, Miss. A fair point."

Angie can't help but chuckle a little bit, hiding her smile behind her hand. 

Perhaps Jarvis is right. There's definitely a conversation to be had. Angie just has to figure out where, and when, and how to start it. She's got a feeling it's going to be more easily said than done.

~*~

Bucky blinks and looks up from where he's been staring at the intersection of two grout lines in the tile floor. There's been no change in Steve's condition since Bucky can't remember when. He's not sure what day it is. The clothes he's wearing are rumpled, and the straps of his prosthetic are making his shoulder ache. There's at least three days worth of beard on his face, and his hair feels uncombed.

Across the room, on the other side of Steve's bed, sits Peggy, her head back against the chair and her eyes closed. He thinks maybe she's asleep, but when he shifts in his chair, her eyes open and she looks up. "James?"

"What day is it?" he asks, standing and feeling the blood return to his legs. "How long has it been since…" He nods to Steve.

"Five days," Peggy replies with a sad smile. "It's been two since you've asked me that question."

Bucky tries to remember that conversation, but doesn't. He doesn't remember saying more than two or three words since Stark's men pulled Steve out of the plane, his body caked in ice and death-pale.

Looking around the room again, Bucky asks, "Where's Angie? Is she okay? Is she safe?"

Giving him another of her concerned looks, this one a touch confused, Peggy says, "She's got a show tonight. I assume she's still going on. I haven't talked to her since the day before last."

Now James is the one who's confused. "Why?"

Peggy crosses her arms over her chest and sits back in her chair. "I imagine because she got sick of this vigil we're keeping."

Bucky lets his eyes linger over Steve's sleeping form, like he has hour after hour, day after day. Steve looks perfect, but he hasn't moved a muscle. Bucky thinks he remembers a conversation between Stark and the medical doctor in his employ, where they kept talking about possible brain injury.

It's just a matter of time. Bucky knows it. He also knows he feels like he needs some fresh air.

"Watched pot never boils," he says to Peggy, who furrows her brow, but eventually nods her head and chuckles. "I'll be back in a few hours."

"Take your time," Peggy says, standing and rounding Steve's bed.

Bucky meets her at the foot of the bed, allowing Peggy to wrap her arms around him. He rests his chin against her shoulder and kisses her jaw. "He's going to wake up," Bucky whispers in Peggy's ear.

"Of course." Peggy's got that British stiff upper lip, but her eyes shine, even as she smiles at him.

He leaves before she can cry. He doesn't look back at Steve.

Instead, Bucky leaves the building, flags down a cab, and heads for the theater district. He finds the theater Angie's play is at, and goes around the building, looking for the stage door. It's there in the alley, so Bucky stands across from it, and he doesn't have to wait long.

Ten minutes later, actors start to leave the theater in groups of two and three. Angie comes out of the building, talking and laughing with a very beautiful woman. Bucky suddenly feels intensely jealous. He knows he has no right to, since he's been pathetically neglectful lately, but he can't help the way he feels.

Calling out to get Angie's attention, Bucky says, "Hey, kid! You need someone to walk you home?"

Pausing, Angie gives Bucky a long look, one eyebrow high on her forehead. Eventually, she smirks and says, "Yeah, sure. You know anyone reputable enough for the job?"

"There's only us murderers and thieves out this late," Bucky replies, throwing his good arm wide.

The woman says softly, "Angie?"

"It's alright, Louise," Angie says, waving off her friend. "This fella's a friend of mine." She gives Louise half a hug and then walks over to Bucky. "Make yourself useful and hail us a cab."

Nodding, Bucky offers his arm to Angie, who takes it.

"Where's Peggy?" Angie asks as they leave the alley for the main street. "Did something happen with Steve?"

"Still asleep," Bucky replies, stepping to the edge of the curb and waving at an approaching taxi. It slows down. "Peggy's with him."

They get in the cab, and to Bucky's surprise, Angie gives the address of the house.

"I thought you were staying with your mother?" Bucky asks, settling into the seat next to Angie. 

"I was," Angie replies, straightening her hat. "But, I miss our bed something fierce. If you stay with me, I won't be too scared."

Bucky smiles at the thought, but shakes his head. "There's no way I'm letting myself fall asleep next to you, Angie. I'm sorry."

With a huff, she crosses her arms over her chest. "So all that talk about proposing? That was just talk, huh?"

"No," Bucky insists, ignoring the look the cab driver gives him over his shoulder. "It wasn't just talk. But how am I supposed to trust myself around you and Peggy?" He lowers his voice and whispers, "Whatever Leviathan did to me, I'm dangerous, Angie. Especially while I'm sleeping."

"So, what?" Angie says. "You gonna spend the rest of your life not sleeping? That's impossible."

"That's why I needed to find Steve," Bucky explains. "He's the only one I trust to stop me from accidentally hurting someone."

Angie gapes at Bucky, her expression sharpening and fading as they pass street lamps. "So, the only way you'll feel safe around me and Peggy, is if your dead boyfriend – the one you and Peggy are still hung up on – comes back to life? And then what? He moves in and I move out and everything's hunky-dory for people who aren't me!" With a frustrated huff, she leans forward and taps the cab driver on the shoulder. "I changed my mind." She gives him the number of her mother's house.

Bucky sighs, but doesn't otherwise object to the change in plans. It's not like he has any counter argument that will work here.

When they get all the way out to the Martinelli house, Angie gives Bucky a long look. "Thanks for the ride," she says, a sad smile on her face. "Bye, Buck."

"Goodbye," Bucky says, hardly getting the word out before Angie slams the car door shut and strides up toward the house. 

"Tough luck," says the cab driver, like he actually gives a damn. "Where to next?"

Bucky gives him the address of the hospital. There's no point in going home if Angie's not going to be there.

~*~

"Peggy," says Agent Sousa over the phone, "we've got a credible threat. Somehow word leaked about the package. This morning, we intercepted a coded message that indicated Leviathan agents are coming into New York tonight."

Taking a sharp breath of surprise (but really, she should have realized that word about Steve's presence and condition would spread, despite her precautions), Peggy asks, "Do we know how they're entering the city?"

"By boat," Sousa replies. "The message contained a time and a pier number."

"Then let's head them off," Peggy replies. She may not be SSR anymore _officially_ , but her new defense directive has yet to get off the ground, so the SSR will have to do. Besides, she was hoping to get a chance to ask Daniel about jumping ship over to her side, and she wanted to do it in person.

"You want local police presence?" Sousa asks, but the tone in his voice suggests he's already guessed Peggy's response. 

"No, of course not," she replies, ignoring Sousa's knowing chuckle. "I have a few friends who are resupplying in New Jersey at the moment. I'll call them up, we'll have all the backup we need."

"Alright. Just give me a call later. Tell me where you want to meet," Daniel says, and Peggy can picture very clearly the resigned shake of his head he must be giving. 

As they say their goodbyes, Peggy notices James hovering ten feet away. She hangs up the phone and asks, "What is it?"

"Someone's coming for Steve?" he asks, his jaw thrust forward as he finishes speaking and clenches his teeth.

"I'll take care of it," Peggy assures him, taking a few careful steps toward James and putting her hands on his shoulders. "You should stay here, with him. In case he wakes up."

James scoffs. "Who are we kidding? He's not waking up. It's been two weeks, Peggy. It's not happening."

"Then why do you care whether or not we protect him?" Peggy asks, raising an eyebrow at James. "If he's gone, let's bury him right now and get on with our lives."

Peggy's calling James's bluff, which he seems to realize if the fire in his eyes is any indication. Still, he doesn't pull away from her. "We should," he says softly, "but I can't. I'm sorry, Pegs, but it's him and me, 'til the end of the line." He chuckles brokenly. "And then past that, since apparently neither one of us can die."

"James," Peggy says softly, pulling him closer until he rests his head on her shoulder and her arms are wrapped tightly around his back. "I understand. Everything he means to me, he means to you, a thousand times over."

"Yeah," James replies, just accepting the hug, without really returning it. "I tried to leave him behind. I tried to move forward, with you and with Angie." He sighs. "I made a mess of it, Pegs. I'm sorry."

Peggy's not sure what she's supposed to say to that. Is she supposed to forgive James? Is she supposed to comfort him? Eventually, she settles on saying, "You know why they want him, don't you?"

James's head pops up and his eyes widen, but a moment later he nods. "Yeah. They want to make more of him. More of _us_." A shudder runs through his body. "We can't let that happen. No one deserves this … this _half_ -death."

Peggy's heart drops as she realizes how James feels about his survival. She's had suspicions for a long time, but now she knows, or at least has a better idea of, how deep the feeling goes. And yet, he keeps on. "So, are you going to guard Steve? Be the last line of defense? Be here for him if he wakes up?"

Before James can answer, the door flies open, wafting the curtain away. Peggy readies herself for an attack, but then the curtain sways again and she sees the intruder. "Angie?"

"No, you know what?" Angie says, pushing the curtain out of the way and stomping across the room toward Peggy and James. "Angela Martinelli is no quitter! We had a good thing going here, and I'm going to fight for it!" She stands in front of them, hands on her hips and chin tilted up, eyes narrowed.

Peggy gets this rush of affection for Angie that makes her smile.

"Don't you smile at me, Margaret Carter!" Angie cries, holding up one finger and shaking it in Peggy's face. "I've been alone at my mother's house – well, not alone because the house is bursting with elderly people, but still – for _two weeks_! I'm sick of it! Let's just move the vegetable," she points past Peggy at Steve, "into one of the spare bedrooms and go home!"

"Hey," James says, most likely a protest over Angie's description of Steve.

Peggy can't say she approves of the description either, but Angie's given her an idea. "We should move him," she says, first to Angie, and then to James. "If Leviathan knows he exists, it won't be long before they find out where we've been hiding him."

"Not the house, though," James says, like he's already onboard with the plan. Angie's looking at the both of them like they've grown extra heads. "Somewhere else."

"Somewhere else," Peggy agrees. "Somewhere new."

Angie makes a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. "What? What's going on?"

Peggy leans over and presses a kiss to Angie's cheek. "The bad guys are after Steve, darling. You've given us a plan for how to keep him safe."

"Well," Angie says with a frown, her brow deeply furrowed. She opens and closes her mouth once before finally saying, "Well, good. Where are we taking him?"

"Someplace only the three of us know about," James insists. 

Peggy wracks her brain, trying to come up with a safe place Leviathan doesn't know about. 

"I've got it," James says, and if it weren't for the concern on his face, Peggy would think he looks more excited than he has since she lost him the first time. "Three houses down from ours. The owners are out of town all winter."

"You're sure?" Peggy asks him, because though Peggy knows a lot about what goes on in New York, she has to admit, she hasn't paid much attention to the neighbors. Everything she's witnessed out of any of them are congruent with her initial assessment, that they're all like Stark, if not quite as wealthy. Rich, self-absorbed, ultimately harmless.

James must not have come to the same conclusion, or at least his paranoia made him undergo more thorough investigation before he did.

With a sharp nod, James says, "Yes. No one even comes to check on the house. We can hide there until March, at least."

"Would the other neighbors notice if, say, plumbers were to make a visit to the house?" Peggy asks, smiling at the way Angie's following their back-and-forth with less and less awe, and more exasperation.

"No, I don't think that would be out of place," James says, looking back at Steve and giving a heavy sigh. "Let's do it."

"I have some calls to make," Peggy tells the others. She's not sure how this is going to work out in the long time, but if it keeps the people she loves out of trouble, Peggy's all for it.

~*~

As they (with Mr. Jarvis's help) move Steve God Damn Rogers's body into the house down the street from theirs, Angie just pretends she's in a spy movie. Otherwise, she'd probably be too scared to keep moving forward. Maybe. After living with Peggy and Bucky for most of the year, Angie thinks her sense of fear is now skewed.

Somehow, she can't be mad at them for that.

And then she's sitting in a cold, silent house, watching a man who should be dead, but isn't. It's been hours since Peggy, Bucky, and Jarvis all left to go deal with the threat. They assured her that no one would find her here, so Angie's choosing to believe them, because it's easier for her that way. 

Still, it's too quiet, and the house makes weird noises, and Angie starts to get creeped out.

She starts talking.

"Hey, Steve," she says, sitting down next to the bed where they've tucked him in. "Can I call you Steve? Captain Rogers seems too formal, you know? I mean, we've both had our…" Angie clears her throat. "On Peggy, and Bucky. I mean, I assume. They don't talk much about what you were like in bed."

Angie laughs at herself.

"Sorry," she says, pulling the blanket closer around her shoulders. "Sorry it's so cold in here. Jarvis turned on the radiators, but it's going to take awhile for the room to heat up. Can't imagine it bothers you too much. I mean, you did survive being frozen solid. At least here you've got a nice pile of down comforters."

Leaning closer to the bed, Angie stares at Steve's profile. "Do you think maybe you and I look alike? Even a little? I think we do. I mean, _obviously_ I'm cuter." She shrugs, like Steve's capable of arguing with her. "Don't get me wrong, you've got the whole super-soldier, muscles thing going on for you, which is great. And I suppose you can sort of act. You know, my friend Jane was one of your chorus girls? She said you were the sweetest guy."

Sighing, Angie says, "I can't even be mad at Peggy and Bucky for choosing you over me. I'd probably make the same choice, if we're being honest here. Jane said you were always drawing pictures of Bucky. How sweet is that?" Angie shakes her head. "I can't even be mad at you."

"I wish I knew how to walk away, you know?" Angie shifts, sitting back in her chair. "I tried it. I made it a little over a week. Now I let myself get pulled back in."

Angie falls silent for a few minutes, thinking about how she could change her life to make more sense of it. She _could_ move back into The Griffith. Maybe find a new girlfriend there. Settle for someone less exciting than Peggy. It would be tame. Predictable.

"Oh, who are we kidding?" Angie asks Steve. "I like the adventure. Peggy Carter is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"Me too."

Upon hearing a voice that isn't her own, Angie screams and stands up, halfway behind the chair before she realizes the voice isn't an intruder's. Steve Rogers is awake. 

"Sorry, miss," he says, raising an arm to his head and squinting, like the sunlight coming in through the window is too bright. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"You're awake!" Angie cries, clutching onto the back of her chair. "Wow, you're awake!"

"How long have I been out?" Steve asks, sitting up. "I thought for sure that plane crash would've killed me."

"You and everyone else," Angie tells him, holding a hand to her chest as her heartbeat starts to slow down a little. "Well, except for Bucky. He said if he survived that fall, and a few months in the frozen Alps, you probably survived that plane crash."

"Buck–" Steve says, turning his head sharply toward Angie and bearing his intense concentration right at her. It's more than a little intimidating. "Bucky? James Barnes? He's alive?"

Angie realizes maybe it wasn't the best idea to leave her and her big mouth here to break the news to Steve. Then again, she can't _not_ give him the information. He's Captain America! He deserves to know.

Nodding, she says, "Yes. The Howling Commandos found him last summer."

"Last summer?" Steve asks. "But…" He looks out the window, frowning. "How long?"

Angie isn't quite sure what he's asking, so she shakes her head.

"How long have I been asleep?" He demands, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and perching on the edge of it.

"It took Mr. Stark almost two years to find you," Angie tells him, wincing.

She watches as Steve processes the information. His face goes through a range of emotions, mostly confused and sad. He asks, "Two years?"

"Yeah."

Steve makes a screwed-up, deep-thought sort of face. "Is the war over?"

"Oh, yeah," Angie replies, nodding her head. "So when you said Peggy Carter was the best thing to ever happen to you?" If Steve didn't look so sad, Angie would probably be terrified of him.

Angie manages to squeak out, "We're girlfriends. Or we were." She sighs, shaking her head. "Now that Bucky's back and you're back, I'm guessing I'm the one who doesn't fit into the picture."

That makes Steve look up at her sharply, this angry furrow to his brow. Somehow, Angie gets the feeling that he's not angry at her, so much as at her words. "Why not? I was … well, I suppose everyone presumed I was dead. Why wouldn't Peggy move on with you?" He takes a sharp breath, tilting his head. " _And_ Bucky? Both of them?"

With a shrug, Angie says, "Sorry?"

Steve holds eye contact with Angie for a long time, until she finally looks away. He turns on the bed, inspecting the room. "Speaking of, where are they?"

"Saving the world, I think," Angie replies, stepping out from behind the chair. She figures Captain America isn't going to hurt her. "How do you feel?"

"I'm fine," he says, waving off Angie's concern as he stands up. He's wearing a pair of Bucky's sleeping pants and a t-shirt from somewhere. Angie thinks Peggy's been changing Steve's clothes every day, but Angie never thought to ask where she was getting them from. "What do you mean, saving the world? What's going on?"

"I don't really know the details," Angie insists, following as Steve leaves the bedroom and starts wandering around the house. "Something about people after your blood."

Steve stops at the stairwell balcony, looking down over the railing and frowning. "Where is this place? Where are we? Where are they?"

"New York. And New York. They're in the city," Angie tells him, following Steve down the stairs. Damn. He's not going to stand for being left behind. Well, if Steve isn't sitting out of the action after being in a coma for the past two years, Angie's not going to stay away either. As Steve gets to the front door, Angie cries out, "Wait!"

"What?" Steve turns back toward her, the expectant look on his face just as intent as all the rest of his faces.

"We're supposed to be hiding out here." Angie points at Steve, "And you're in pajamas."

"I'm not _hiding out_ ," Steve tells her, though he does shrug when he looks down at his clothes, "though I would appreciate your help finding something more appropriate to wear."

Angie takes her coat from the rack next to the door. "You okay in bare feet for a minute or two?"

Steve nods. "There aren't clothes in this house?"

"It's not our house," Angie explains, throwing her coat around her shoulders. "C'mon. Let's go fast, so the neighbors don't see us. I'm sure Bucky has some clothes in our house that will work for you."

"Wait, _our_ house?" Steve asks, following Angie from the borrowed house. "Has Bucky been living with you?"

He seems almost scandalized, which is just too cute. Angie can see why Peggy and Bucky loved him so much. Angie gives Steve a smile over her shoulder. "A lady never kisses and tells." Setting a quick pace up the block, Angie says, "Now, come on, or they're going to finish saving the world before we get there."

~*~

"There's another one!" Peggy calls to her unit, pointing her gun and shooting in the direction of the sniper up on the ship. Bucky's at Peggy's back, holding up his prosthetic arm and using it to steady his aim as he shoots at the other half of the Leviathan group. They're pinned down, but not outgunned, so Peggy's fairly certain they'll come out on top.

Fairly certain.

A commotion behind Peggy draws her attention, and she looks just in time to see a sedan plow through the Leviathan agents holed up on that side of the docks. The man who jumps out of the car is a ghost.

"Hold your fire!" Peggy cries out, shooting a look at Dum Dum, off to her left. "Hold your fire, god damn it!"

The ghost moves through the Leviathan agents as fluidly as a dancer. Except for the clothes he's wearing, it's almost as if he never left. He looks just the same, until his image starts to waver. It takes Peggy a moment to realize she's crying. When she wipes away the tears, Steve is back. He's back, he's awake. Flesh and blood.

Not a ghost.

A shot rings out right next to Peggy, drawing her attention. James still has his rifle pointed up at the ship, but Peggy follows his line of sight just in time to see the sniper's body splash into the water.

As Peggy turns back around, she sees James is already five steps ahead of her, calling out, "You're late, Rogers! What'd you do, sleep in?"

"Bucky!" Steve cries, vaulting over a few boxes and swiftly closing the distance between them. He grabs James's face and kisses him soundly. "You're alive!"

"So are you," Peggy points out, rushing forward to join them. Steve immediately pulls Peggy in, hugging her and kissing her forehead. Peggy wants more from him, so much more, but then she notices Angie getting out of the car. 

Angie. 

Peggy allows herself to squeeze Steve once more, and then she lets go of him and heads for Angie. 

"Sorry, English," Angie says as she steps carefully around the debris. "I couldn't get him to stay away."

Peggy smiles and catches Angie's hand with her own. "No one could've, darling. Thank you for looking after him. I know it was a difficult thing to ask of you."

Angie ducks her head, and Peggy thinks she must be blushing. "Scared the bejeezus out of me when he woke up."

Peggy laughs and pulls Angie closer. 

Angie accepts the embrace, but then sighs deeply. "I guess this is it for us, huh?"

Peggy can understand why Angie would think that, but the idea of letting Angie go, of not having Angie in her life, makes Peggy's heart clench painfully. She asks, "What happened to the Angie that burst in this morning, ready to fight for this relationship?"

Angie shrugs. "That's when I thought I was fighting a guy in a coma." She nods over at where Steve and James are still wrapped around each other, Steve inspecting James's prosthetic. "Even I'm smart enough to know I'd never win a fight against Captain America."

"It's not a fight," Peggy says, wrapping her arms around Angie. "I found you, Angela Martinelli. I love you. I'm not giving up on that."

Angie sighs again, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against Peggy's. "I think you're forgetting how _long_ you were hung up on that man's death. I haven't, Peggy. I can't be the person who takes him away from you again. I can't."

As Angie slips from Peggy's grasp, she gives Peggy a sad smile. "Goodbye, English."

Peggy can't bring herself to say goodbye, but she can't think of anything that she could say to make Angie stay. A hand on Peggy's shoulder makes her jump a little, until she realizes it's James's. 

"I'm sorry, Pegs," he says. "I love her, too. If things were different..."

"Yeah," Peggy says sadly, sniffing as her nose starts to run. 

From beside them, Steve says, "You guys should go after her. I don't want to replace anyone."

"Steve," Peggy says, shaking her head. She knows Angie is right, that Peggy can't give up Steve a second time. She's just not sure how to say it out loud.

"I'll find someplace else to be," Steve insists. "The name's not Captain New York. I've got a whole country I belong to. I could–"

James cuts him off. "I'd follow you. Steve, it's me and you, pal. Until the day you don't want me anymore," he tilts his head toward his left arm, "I'm yours."

"Buck," Steve says, his eyes shiny and his jaw clenched. "How can you ask me to destroy this life you've been building? Angie is great. If you both love her, she must be something really special. Don't ask me to do this."

Before James can do anything more than scowl in Steve's direction, Peggy sighs. "I can't believe the three of us. We can save the world three times over, but we can't figure out how to make this decision. It's pathetic. Honestly." She wipes a tear away, and sees the Howling Commandos hovering just out of earshot, probably waiting to say hello to Steve.

"Okay," Steve says, standing there with his hands on his hips. "Okay, maybe this is the coma brain talking," he makes a little gesture toward his head, "but I have an idea."

Peggy raises an eyebrow at Steve, and she imagines James is doing the same by the way Steve looks back and forth between them. 

"Who's to say the only happy way to be is in a triad?" Steve asks. "You both love her, and she seemed great. If she's up for it, I'd love to get to know her better."

"Up for what, exactly?" Peggy asks.

Beside her, James asks, "What? All four of us?" Suddenly Peggy understands.

The only thing she can think to say is, "We'd have to find a bigger bed."

Steve laughs and James looks at her like she's lost her sanity. Then his face softens. Still looking wary, he says, "We couldn't get married."

"Marriage is overrated," Peggy insists, leaning to kiss first James, and then Steve. Steve feels just like he used to, and the familiarity of the kiss makes Peggy smile widely. "Why don't you two to say hello to the rest of the men. I'll catch up to Angie."

They both nod and wave Peggy off, and as she walks quickly in the direction Angie went, she realizes she's feeling more hopeful than she can ever remember being.

Now she just has to convince Angie to say yes.

~*~

"Captain Rogers! Captain Rogers!" shouts one of the reporters, and Angie lets Steve steer her in that direction. She thinks very carefully about not tripping over her long gown as they approach the woman. "Captain Rogers, who is accompanying you to Mr. Stark's event tonight?"

Steve smiles down at her and Angie gets butterflies all up and down her stomach. "This is Angela Martinelli," Steve says, with so much pride in his voice that Angie could cry. "Angie, do you want to tell Miss Parks about your play?"

"Sure!" Angie says, shrugging one shoulder. 

"Play?" asks the reporter, scribbling on her notepad. "Here in New York?"

Angie nods. "Yes, ma'am! I was just cast for a large supporting role in _Head Over High Heels_ , on Broadway. I'm playing Edith."

"Fantastic!" The reporter scribbles in her notebooks some more. "And our readers will want to know, are you two together romantically, and are you looking for a third?"

Angie's not sure how to respond, but after only a brief pause, Steve steps in and says, "Yes to your first question, no to the second."

"Why isn't your third with you?" she asks, and Angie can tell she's just curious, not trying to be mean or anything.

Steve just smiles and says, "It was nice to see you Miss Parks. Have a lovely evening."

They move on and Angie murmurs to Steve, "You know there's going to be talk." As they enter the ballroom, she spots Bucky and Peggy, chatting with Stark near the back entrance. 

Picking up a flute of champagne from a waiter's tray, Steve hands it to Angie before taking one for himself. "It's just talk," he says, taking a sip of his drink and then waving at someone. "All that matters is how we feel about each other."

Angie laughs. "Oh, you say that, big guy, but you have yet to meet my mother."

Steve swallows loudly and says, "I'm sure it'll be fine."

Laughing, Angie says, "Of course! There's no way Captain America would be afraid of a little old lady!"

"Absolutely no way," Steve agrees, gesturing Angie ahead of him. 

It's different, this arrangement between the four of them, but Angie's glad she gave it a chance. She reaches back, taking Steve's hand in hers. Besides, Angie is much better at being Steve's date in public than either Peggy or Bucky. Really, Angie's doing them all a huge favor. 

She gets the distinct impression that they appreciate it.

~*~

**Art by Azar**

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**Author's Note:**

> This idea is based off an anonymous prompt sent to the triad verse tumblr: "Not long after the end of season 1, the Howling Commandos discover one armed Bucky Barnes in a Russian gulag. The Commandos and Peggy do what they can to help Bucky adjust to his freedom. Peggy is delighted when Bucky seems to hit it off with Angie. Then Howard discovers the remains of the Valkyrie and brings Steve home. Now Peggy has three loves: Angie, Bucky and Steve. Can the four of them make it work?"
> 
> Thanks for the idea, anon! I hope I did the prompt justice!
> 
> Please don't forget to visit Azar's [art masterpost](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4975846) and leave kudos or a nice comment! 
> 
> This was my first time writing a long-form MCU story, so I'd love for you to let me know how you liked the story. Thanks for reading!


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